


Ripples on the Water

by bluegoldrose



Series: The Children of Summer, The Orphans of Winter [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Arranged Marriage, Dark Past, Death, Destruction, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hope, Loss, Lost Love, Murder, Politics, Psychological Trauma, Rebirth, Resurrection, Sacrifice, Second Chances, Supernatural Elements, Time Travel, Undeath, Uneasy Allies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 42,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2252721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegoldrose/pseuds/bluegoldrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Others won.  Bran Stark and Daenerys Targaryen, seeing the world's end drawing near, decided to change the course of history and reset time.  They are returned to the past with their memories intact, and so are many people whom they will need on their side to rewrite history.  With two years until winter begins, will they succeed where at first they failed or is history doomed to repeat itself?</p><p>Not centered on one family.  Pairings are mostly political alliances.</p><p>Some of the relationship tags refer to past relationships in the canon timeline.</p><p>Critiques are welcomed.</p><p>{ON PAUSE, PENDING REVISIONS}</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Robb

**Author's Note:**

> I have seen a couple fics out there that involve resetting the timeline, so my brain decided to create one too. Mostly I had the first paragraph in my head.

He awoke screaming.  The taste of blood was in his mouth and the scent of it in his nose.  He threw the furs aside and ran across the room, where he promptly vomited into the chamber pot.  When he finished retching, he realized that something was wrong.  He gingerly touched his chest, remembering the sword that had been shoved into his heart.  He gagged again, but there was nothing left inside for his stomach to bring back up. He eventually slumped to the floor, shaking.  He remembered dying at the Twins and yet he was alive.

He looked around the room, clutching anxiously at his tunic.  It took him several minutes to realize where he was.  _Winterfell... I’m home... how?_ He heard a knock at his door and opened it to see Jon staring wide-eyed at him.

“I heard you scream,” his brother said.  Jon looked just as confused and lost as Robb felt.

“I...” What exactly was he supposed to say?  That he died? That he didn’t know what was going on?  “This may seem strange, but what is the date?”

Jon shook his head.  “Would it seem strange that I don’t know either?”

Robb exhaled slowly, anxious, hoping.  “When was the last time you saw me?”

He seemed frightened, disturbed.  “When I left Winterfell to go to the Wall.  That was the last time that I saw you.  You died...”

Robb closed the gap between them and embraced his brother tightly.  “I did,” he choked out.  “The last thing I remember was being stabbed through the heart at the Twins.  What happened?”

“I don’t know.”  Jon pulled back, fear in his eyes.  “The last thing I remember was watching an army of Others and their wights swarm the Wall.  We were losing.  It didn’t matter what sacrifices we made, we were dying.  Then I awoke in my bed at the same time I heard your screams.”

“The Others?”  He regarded his brother with disbelief and then laughed.  “Here I am questioning the existence of the Others when we both know that I died, and yet here we are, at home in Winterfell.”

“Some time in the past I think, with how young you look.”  Jon walked to the window and stared outside.  Robb joined him.  Everything in the yard looked exactly as Robb remembered.  “I forgot what Winterfell looked like without the snow and ashes,” Jon whispered.

“When Theon burned Winterfell you mean.”  Robb was suddenly angry.  If they were somehow in the past, then Theon was somewhere in Winterfell at that very moment.  Robb wanted nothing more than to run his one time friend through with a sword.  “I should never have let him go.”

“That hasn’t happened yet.”

“We need to make things different this time,” a young voice said behind them.  The brothers turned to see Bran standing at the doorway, his young face solemn and grim.  “Today will be the day we find the direwolves.  We need to change everything, starting today.”

Jon stared at Bran in disbelief.  “It was you?  When I died I saw the crows and the tree with your face.  You did this?”

Their young brother nodded.  “With help from Daenerys.  It was the only way.  We were losing, and with all the wars the people were starving.  If we can change things now, then hopefully we can all survive.”

Robb was lost, but given his situation, lost seemed like an alright state of being.  “Who all remembers?”

Bran chewed on his lip, uncertain.  “The three of us, Daenerys, Sansa, Arya, and Rickon, plus Melisandre,  Sam, and a few others.  I tried to reach as many minds as I could before the spell took us all back.”

“Which people were you trying to reach,” Robb questioned.

“Anyone who could help change the tide of history.  I don’t know if we succeeded or who all Daenerys tried to reach.”  Bran suddenly ran and jumped into Robb’s arms.  “I am so glad that you are here.  I only knew that you died because Summer could feel Grey Wind die.  Theon never killed us, just some other boys.”

Robb squeezed his brother tightly.  “A good thing you didn’t die or we would never have had this second chance.”

“We need to prevent the execution today,” Bran muttered sadly, extracting himself from his brother’s arms.  “We need to know what he saw with the Others.  We need to know their plans now, before winter comes.  We need there to be one more full harvest before winter, we only have two years until winter comes.”

Robb nodded grimly.  “We will have a long discussion with father in the morning.  Whether or not he will believe us...”

“He will,” Jon glowered.  His hands curled into tight fists.  “When I tell him that I know the truth about my birth he will believe me.”


	2. Sansa

She was shivering beneath her furs.  The cold of the Other's blade had chilled her soul.  She breathed slowly, for a long time, until she realized that she was alive and breathing of her own accord.  "I'm alive," she whispered, not yet daring to open her eyes.  The world was warm, a warm she could barely remember.  Life had been so cold for so long.  Something in the air seemed familiar, like a long forgotten dream.  She opened her eyes and sat up, slowly as she was uncertain of what had happened.  Then she remembered.  She remembered her son, only six years old, being struck down by the blade of an Other.  That same monster killed her only a few moments later.  She remembered after that, when she was a living corpse, a thrall of the Other that had taken her soul.  She remembered the world going dark.

Sansa sobbed, her body shaking with the force of her cries.  Her sons were dead, little Robert and Eddard who had only known the winter.  She pulled the furs close about her chest as she shook.  When she calmed, she remembered that something was wrong.  _This is Winterfell, not the ruin it became, but my home._   She ran her hands down her body and could feel the differences.  There was substance to her body, muscle and fat instead of skin and bone.  Her bust was smaller and her hips were narrower.  She could feel no scars across her skin.  She threw back the furs and walked around her room, looking outside to see the world below.  _There is no snow.  This is the Long Summer.  Am I dead?  Is this the afterlife?_ She knew somehow that she was not dead.  Death had felt cold, this was like walking in a memory.

"We're home again," a voice said behind her.  She turned to see her slip of a sister hiding in the shadow of her doorway.  "I killed you."  Her voice was calm, controlled.  "When you were under the Other's control.  I was the one to set fire to you."

"Thank you."  Strangely, it seemed like the best reply.  She studied her sister, trying to determine how old she was.  She looked as she had before disappearing from the Red Keep. "How old do you think we are?"

"You look the way you did before King's Landing, ten or eleven for you, so eight or nine for me."

"My sons," Sansa breathed, distraught.

"Your sons were never born.  You haven't even flowered yet stupid."  Arya spoke the last word with a smile, trying to cheer her up.

Sansa couldn't figure out whether she should laugh or cry.  She walked to her sister and embraced her tightly.  Arya's embrace was just as fierce.  "I died a year after you," she whispered.  "Starvation of all things."  Sansa finally laughed at the tone of her sister's voice.

"Do you think that anyone else remembers?"

Arya pulled  back from her sister and exhaled deeply.  "Let's go find our brothers and see if they remember anything."

 _Brothers... Robb... Jon... Bran... Rickon... I'm home._   Hand in hand, they left Sansa's room to search for their brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need to state that Arya is not trying to be a jerk, she is trying to be positive in the face of loss.
> 
> I decided that the best way to tell this will be to have everyone's awakening first and then proceed. Bits of the past devastation of the world will be told through the various POVs. Initial POVs will be regional.


	3. Catelyn

She remembered the flames licking against her skin the second time she died.  It had felt like a sweet, pleasing release.  She was surprised to open her eyes again.   _Not again, the Twins are destroyed, let me rest._ She remained still for a long while. She could swear that she had heard a scream when she awoke.   _There are always screams.  Always at the Twins.  Always where I die._ But Catelyn Stark was not dead, she could feel her breath rising and falling.  She could smell Ned.  She could feel his warmth... beside her.  She turned over in the bed and saw him, her Ned.  She tentatively touched his face, uncertain.  His flesh was warm beneath her fingertips.   _Ned…_ She kept that hand on his face and gingerly touched her own with the other.  Her face was unscarred and whole.  She touched her neck found it to be uncut.

_This is Winterfell,_ she realized in shock.   _If Ned is here and alive… The children…_ She pushed away the furs on the bed, carefully so as to not awake her husband.  She was frightened.  Fear was strange, she could not remember the last time she had been afraid.  Lady Stoneheart had never been afraid.  She killed, she got revenge, and she never felt fear.   _My heart is no longer stone.  I can feel._  She pulled on her housecoat and walked quietly from the room.

She walked first to Rickon’s room, then to Bran’s, but found both rooms abandoned.  The furs and covers upon their beds were recently disturbed.  She came to Robb’s room next and found the door ajar, and heard young voices speaking within.  She pushed the door open and saw her children inside, alive.

“Mother,” they cried as one voice, with the exception of Jon Snow, her husband’s bastard.  Strangely, she did not care that Jon was there.  Her children were alive, and they surrounded her, hugging her, touching her as though they had not seen her in years.  “What happened?”  She knew that they were aware of something being wrong.  She could remember finding her children awake in the middle of the night, sneaking into one another’s rooms or sneaking about the castle.  If she caught them, they would be sheepish and apologetic.  They were not sheepish now.  They were lonely, needy.  There was something in their eyes: fear, sadness, and wisdom beyond their years.

“You remember,” Bran questioned, worry etched on his face.

“Yes,” she breathed.  _I can speak... I forgot the sound of my own voice... the feel of my children in my arms..._ “This is real?”

As one they nodded.  “We died mother,” Robb choked out.  “All of us.  Bran brought us all back.”

She placed a hand on either side of her beautiful son’s face.  She had not seen him since he had been unconscious in his bed.  “How?  Why?”

“You weren’t supposed to remember mother.  I did not want you to remember what you had done.”  His voice was gentle, and brutally honest.  She had been a monster, destroying the Riverlands.  “I did not die, but the world was destroyed.  The Others returned.  The Wall was destroyed.  Everyone died mother, everyone.  There were five of us left.  Together we cast a spell to return ourselves to the past.  We did not know if it would work or not, but we had to try.  The spell would allow us to return other souls to the past as well, so we pulled as many helpers as we could.  I don’t know who all made it back.”

“Hush,” she pulled her second youngest son into her arms.  “You brought all of us back my sweet son.”

“Who were the other four,” Jon questioned.  A good question, Catelyn realized.

“Dany, Melisandre, Sam, and Tyrion,” Bran answered.  She had no idea who the first three people were, but had a suspicion about the fourth.

“Tyrion Lannister?”

Bran nodded solemnly.  “Though I think he may have died as we cast the spell.”

“My Sam,” Jon probed, seemingly amused.  “Samwell Tarly?”  Bran affirmed his half-brother’s suspicions.  The boy laughed.  “A craven like him survived all of us?  I do hope that he remembers.”

“He should,” Bran seemed to be trying to convince himself.  Catelyn could not blame her son for his uncertainty, the situation he described sounded bleak and terrible.

“You trusted that Red Priestess in the end little brother?”  It was Jon who asked that too.  Suddenly Catelyn remembered Melisandre, the red woman who had sat beside Stannis Baratheon when he met with his brother Renly.

Bran glared daggers at Jon.  Catelyn had never seen her young son so angry.  “She wasn’t an Other or one of their wights, that made her trustworthy.  You died three years ago!  We thought you were our hope and you died along with everyone else at the Wall!”

She froze, looking between her children and Jon Snow.  What had her son seen?  What had all of her children seen?  “Who is this Dany you mentioned,” she asked gently, hoping to calm her son.  He was calmed, but the name he said frightened her.

“Daenerys Targaryen, the daughter of King Aerys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was hard to write...


	4. Daenerys

The moment she felt the smooth silks upon her skin Daenerys smiled.  _It worked.  IT WORKED!_ She had forgotten the touch of gentle fabric so long ago that she sighed happily in her bed.  She refused to open her eyes, wanting to be still and at peace.  _A moment of peace and rest, that is all I want._ She could tell that the sun had already risen without opening her eyes.  With a reluctant sigh, she opened her eyes and sat up.  _Pentos, before the world turned to snow and ash.  This is Magister Illyrio's manse, just where I had planned to wake up._   She knew that Bran was planning a much later awakening, but she needed her life to change earlier.  _This is before Drogo ever arrived.  My sun and stars..._   Daenerys could not even remember Khal Drogo's face.  She could not remember the names of most of her followers.  She could not even remember the faces of the men, women, and children who had died for her.  _Things will be different this time.  I will never go with the Dothraki.  I will never go to Qarth or Slaver's Bay._   In a way, not going to Slaver's Bay frustrated her; she did not want her Unsullied or children to remain slaves.  It was a sacrifice that she knew had to be made, even if she did not want to make that choice.  _Missandei... Grey Worm..._ both had died in Mereen, ten years ago at least, a lifetime ago.  _I was the stallion who mounts the world.   I led the biggest army the world had ever seen.  I was the last dragon, the greatest warrior, and all for naught._

With a heavy sigh, she forced herself from the bed and pulled on the airy robe which had been laid out for her to wear that day.  _Such a silly confection.  We wasted so much time, so much food, so much money._   She walked to her balcony and leaned against the warm stone barrier.  She had missed the feeling of heat.  It had been too long since she had been able to feel the heat of the sun against her skin.  She knew that this moment would not last long.  She would need to start her work right away, but for that brief moment she wanted to be content to just feel the sun upon her skin.

She heard a man's voice calling her name outside her room.  "Daenerys! Daenerys!"  She knew that the voice sounded familiar, but could not place where.  "Dany, open the door!"  _Viserys?_ Had she forgotten the sound of her own brother's voice?  Not that he had been much of a brother, but he needed to stay alive.  He was the third head of the dragon.  She reluctantly left the balcony and opened the door.  She had forgotten his angry violet eyes, the stark paleness of his hair.  _The mad dragon, as mad as our father._

"What's wrong?"  She could tell by his face that she had not reacted as he anticipated.  _Fear... he expects to see fear in my eyes._   She could remember, somewhere in the back of her mind, the quiet, terrified girl who she had once been.  That girl had died on the Dothraki Sea, a lifetime ago.  Though she was thirteen years old again, Daenerys Targaryen had faced an army of Others and the undead.  She had been a queen, a mother, a lover, and a conqueror.  What did she have to fear from a brother whom she had nearly forgotten?

"Why were you not with us for the morning meal?  The servant girls tried to wake you, but you just lay there.  I will not tolerate this behavior!  You are meeting the Khal and I will not have you acting like a child!"

She rolled her eyes and stepped aside when he tried to grab her arm.  "I will meet with Khal Drogo as we have promised.  I overslept, that is all.  Now if you will excuse me, I must speak with Magister Illyrio."  She swept past him deftly, smiling to herself as she left her nonplussed brother behind.  She knew that he would try to hit her for that later, but she really did not care.  _I am the blood of the dragon.  You died to me the moment you threatened my child._   She remembered to herself that Rhaego would never even be conceived now.  _My sun and stars, I am sorry, but not this time._ She had a very specific need to speak with the Magister.  She found him in his solar, overflowing his chair.

"Little princess," he greeted her warmly.

 _I should have your head now..._ She smiled back at him happily, and then told him what she knew.  "Where is Aegon?"

He was unable to prevent the shock from showing on his face.  "Aegon who?  I have not met many people with that..."

She laughed; she had not expected him to be so transparent.  "The boy you are pretending is my brother Rhaegar's son.  The little Blackfyre you have raised as a Targaryen.  Oh don't give me that look, I know who and what you are.  I don't care; I need allies for the coming war."  She hoped that Aegon's memories were intact.

His eyes narrowed at her.  "What war?  The war for your restoration?"

She shook her head.  "The war for the Iron Throne is unimportant.  Kings and Queens are born and die every day.  The war that must be waged is in the farthest north.  The Long Night will come again.  Those dragon eggs that you plan to gift me on my wedding day to Khal Drogo will be useful."

"How do you know these things?  Have you told Viserys?"  He seemed quite uncertain.  He was giving her the same look he gave Viserys when her brother was speaking madness.

 _Knowledge is power._ "My brother knows nothing, nor will I tell him anything. He is a fool. He needs to stay alive, that is all.  He is a pawn, but I am not.  If you will not think me to be mad, then I will tell you the truth.  I lived in the future."  The look got worse; it was the look you give a lunatic.  She sighed deeply.  She had known that resetting time would not be easy, but she had not realized that people would think her insane.  _Why would they not question your sanity?  This is the Long Summer, the world is beautiful.  They do not understand the cold of the Others.  They do not know how painful it was to take our souls backward in time and pull those we needed with us._ "Please do not look at me as though I have lost my mind.  I am quite sane."  _As sane as anyone who survived to the end of the world and had her soul ripped through time can be..._ "It was a spell, cast by myself and a small group of survivors.  That is how I know about Aegon, and about your friend Varys, and about you.  That is how I know about the eggs.  That is why I am not acting like the quiet little girl you know from a day past."

He observed her in silence for a long time.  She held his gaze evenly, hoping, praying that he would believe her.  "I believe you," he said finally.  She breathed out, relieved.  "I would expect you to be angry with my plans."

She smiled ruefully.  "They did not work according to your wishes.  The eggs did hatch, however."

He favored her with a hearty laugh.  "Truly?  You really are a wonder little Daenerys."

"Thank you Magister."  The next part would be difficult.  "I will not be marrying the Khal this time, but I will need the eggs and Aegon.  We must go to Asshai."

"Asshai?  With you and the boy and the dragon eggs?"

"Do you trust me?"  She hoped that the answer would be yes.

He let out a heavy breath, eyeing her with suspicion again.  "Yes, however this plan of yours will take some time."

 _Time?  Winter is less than three years away.  Time is not a luxury that we have._ "I must speak with Khal Drogo.  I must give him my regrets.  After that, I must travel to Asshai with the eggs and preferably with young Aegon.  Send for him this day."

They gazed long and hard at one another before he agreed.  "You and the boy will depart from here in two weeks’ time."

She gave him her best curtsey.  "You have my thanks Magister."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I will have Dany and Drogo interact. Sorry if their personalities seemed off this chapter. (Though I enjoyed Dany brushing off Viserys.) Keep in mind, anyone who returned from the future will be very different than those who did not. Dany lived to some time in her 20s, so did several of the other characters who are now quite young again. They may not have the same skills but they have the same memories and the personalities to match.


	5. Tyrion

Tyrion awoke laughing.  "They did it!"  He ran his hands over his face and touched his nose as though it were a long lost lover.  He pushed himself up, and pondered over where he could be, and when.  Upon sitting up, he realized that he was abed with a woman and hung-over.  With a groan, he pushed himself out of bed and poured himself water from the pitcher in the room.  He had long ago forgotten the taste of wine and its effects, so the groggy thirst was foreign to him.  He had also forgotten the feel of a woman.  He could scarcely recall how long it had been, at least two years, or yesterday for his younger self.  The last girl had been a wildling.  She had stolen him, and they enjoyed one another well enough, until she took a spear through the chest.  He could not recall her name, any more than he could recall the name of the woman in the bed.

He found his clothes scattered about the room and dressed hurriedly.  He needed to know where and when he was, there was not time for wine and women.  The moment that particular thought crossed his mind, he laughed again.  _What have you become Tyrion Lannister?  No time for wine and women?  It really has been too long._ He blamed Daenerys, though it was not her fault.  He blamed her blasted dragons, the dragons that were lost one by one to the other side.  Her “children” that became thralls of the Others and destroyed the whole of the world.  The dragons eventually killed him, mere moments before Dany and Bran ripped all of their souls through time.

There was only one window in the room, and it was too high for him to see outside.  He found his coin-purse and left a few dragons on the table for the girl, and then proceeded out of the room.  He vaguely recalled the brothel as being one he had frequented in King’s Landing.  _Not Chataya’s brothel.  Is Robert the king?  Gods, please, please let this be before Lord Arryn was murdered._

If Jon Arryn was dead already, Tyrion was afraid that the world would fall apart as it had before. _No, the wars will not start again, Daenerys and Bran succeeded._   Tyrion refused to believe that all of their sacrifices had been made in vain.  Too many lives had been lost to enact the curse.  It was a long, bloody hike to the middle of Always Winter.  There, they found Brandon Stark in a cave with Children of the Forest, and there Tyrion and Melisandre died.

Tyrion left the brothel to find himself on the Street of Silk.  He watched the people milling about, and could not help but wonder when they died.  In the riots?  At the Battle of Blackwater?  At the Siege of Prince Aegon?  At the Conquest of the Dragon Queen?  The famine?  The first Other attack?  The Fall of King’s Landing?  His morose thoughts continued all the way to the Red Keep.

_Did they think to leave me with helpers here in the Red Keep?  Am I to just hope that I can prevent the war on my own?  Or do I just go around asking people if they remember the world being destroyed and then hope that I don’t get shipped back to Casterly Rock and confined there as a mad man?_

He spent several days watching the people of the court.  It was strange to him, seeing people that to him had been long dead.  He avoided his brother, sister, nephews, and niece at all costs.  He would gladly see his sister dead again, and her firstborn spawn, but the idea of his other family members being alive again was too painful.  He did not want to allow himself to love them again, not if they were going to die this time around.

He was quite happy to see that Lord Arryn was alive and not due to die for a few months to come, though he was unsure of how to prevent the man’s demise.  He knew from his former wife, the Lady Sansa, that her aunt and Lord Baelish had conspired to kill Lord Arryn.  Preventing his murder would require help, and he had yet to discover an ally.

One week after he awoke, he took a chance and decided to speak with Varys.  Even if the Spider could not remember the future, he would still be able to assist with the present.  He arrived at the eunuch’s chambers quite late at night, but the man was wide awake.

“May I help you Lord Tyrion?”

He smiled broadly.  “Yes Lord Varys, I was wondering if you have heard from the dragons lately?”  He had to admit, the man truly was a master actor; his face did not even show a flicker of unease.

“I am unsure what you mean my lord.”

“Young dragons, old dragons, black dragons, red dragons.  I know...”

“You remember,” Varys gasped, clearly relieved.  Tyrion felt as though a weight had dropped off of his back.  The eunuch hurried him into the room.  “What happened?”

Tyrion sighed.  “When did you die?”

“With King Aegon and the Lady Margaery, during the second attack from our frozen nemesis.”

_Four years ago, or ten years from now.  I should take up drinking again._   “Those of us who survived made our way north.  Queen Daenerys and Brandon Stark used a curse to rip their souls out and send them back in time to their younger selves.  They were able to drag other souls with them.”

“Where did they find a vile curse like that?”

“A boy named Samwell Tarly found it somewhere in the depths of the Citadel.  We owe that boy our lives.”

Varys bowed his head solemnly.  “Have you been working on a way to prevent the wars, famines, and most importantly the Others coming south?”

“Jon Arryn needs to live, that is the first problem that I am trying to amend.”

“Littlefinger.”  Varys spoke the word as though it were a curse.

“Littlefinger,” Tyrion agreed.  “Could we kill the man now?  Have him vanish into the Blackwater one day, never to be seen again?”

That earned a chuckle from the eunuch.  “We could, but who would become master of coin?”

“Hopefully Lord Stannis.  That man would make sure that the realm saved every penny it earned.  We must tread carefully in the capital.  We know that Joffrey cannot rule, and I do not wish for Tommen and Myrcella to die.”

“Indeed, I will send word to Queen Daenerys that the two of us are alive and well.”

“Princess, she is a princess again, her brother is alive still.”

The master of whisperers smiled.  “Do you think that she will allow the throne to pass to anyone other than herself?”

The dwarf laughed.  “No, but you do see the problem that presents for us.”

“We must work blindly toward an uncertain future.  We do not know who else remembers the future we came from, knowing that if we do not prepare for the Others we will all die. A most unpleasant situation.”

“You should ask the Queen who else she decided to return.”

He nodded.  “I will send the message.  In the meantime, I will see to our first problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally unrelated to the story, but I got to see jousting and sword fighting yesterday, and the joust was in the rain. Renaissance faires are wonderful things.
> 
> Related to the story: Daenerys's people returned several months before Bran's people. Not everyone knows what happened to pull them back, and most of them do not know who else is aware of what happened the first time. There are also several people who returned accidentally. (Like Cat)


	6. Samwell

The first thing that Samwell Tarly noticed was that it was harder to move than he last remembered.  He let out a sigh of relief that the spell worked.  Returning to Horn Hill seemed strange to him.  He had never returned after leaving Gilly with his mother.  He remembered, mournfully, that Gilly was still at Craster’s Keep.  He wanted to keep her safe again; wanted to rescue her, but knew that he had to wait.

He huffed and panted when he got out of his bed.  He had forgotten the weight he had carried when he was so much younger.  He had lost much of his weight through the famines and endless miles of walking.  To be so heavy again was strange, and disheartening.

He sat down at his desk and began writing a list of names, names that he was certain to forget if he did not write them down immediately.  Bran and Dany had told him the names of the people they were returning to the past, and Sam could only hope to remember them accurately.

_Bran returned his family, so one letter for them, I’ll address that to him.  I hope Jon remembers, it would be nice to speak with him again._

_Val is beyond the Wall, so no hope there._

_Arianne Martell_

_Asha Greyjoy_

_Lords Tyrion and Varys, but Tyrion should remember that I am here._

_Ser Barristan Selmy_

_Brienne of Tarth_

_I have no idea where Melisandre is._

_Garlan Tyrell_

_Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone_

Those were the names that Sam could remember.  He knew that he was forgetting some, but that was always bound to happen.  He wrote copies for each person that he remembered.  He would send them out immediately, hoping that he was correct.  If he was wrong, well then a lot of people would just think that Samwell Tarly was a strange boy up to some stupid prank.  He dare not mention Daenerys on the list, just in case the letters should fall into the wrong hands.  He only wrote a simple message.  “You should all remember.”  He hoped that was enough.  Too much would be dangerous to put in a letter.  Upon finishing the letters he added an addendum.  “I will be leaving for the Citadel shortly after sending this letter.”

He dried the letters, sealed them with wax, and then realized that he should probably check what date he had returned to.   _This is either 297 or 298, Dany wanted to return earlier than Bran._  It was then that Sam realized the frightful possibility that they were not all remembering the future-past at the same point in the present.  He stuffed the letters into a drawer and decided against sending them until after the date of Lord Arryn’s death, based upon Bran’s desire to return the day news of his death arrived in Winterfell.

He dressed as swiftly as he could, not wanting to waste time.  He walked down the long forgotten halls of the house and found himself in the kitchens.  The smells were strangely wonderful.  He had forgotten the smells of good, freshly cooked food.  He took a loaf of bread from the cooling racks and walked outside.

The warm, damp air made his eyes swell with tears.  In all his life, nothing was more beautiful than that moment.  Summer, the first day of summer in over ten years.  He could smell the grass, the trees, the flowers.  He could hear the birds.  He wanted to weep for joy, but wiped away his tears.   _Winter is coming._  The Starks had the right words, and it was time that everyone heeded them.

He ate his stolen bread swiftly, and then went searching for his father. _I killed him; he doesn’t scare me.  I killed him; he doesn’t scare me._  Sam really wasn’t the person who killed his father, but he had been the person to behead and burn the wight who had once been Randyll Tarly.

He found his father watching Dickon practice his skill with the sword.  It was strange, seeing moments like this, at the end of the world everyone fought every day to survive.  Training happened when you killed Others, raiders, and the undead.  If you were unsuccessful, you died.

His father noticed him, and regarded him as though he had just smelled something foul.  A part of Sam was frightened, but most of him had seen too much death and destruction to be afraid of Lord Randyll Tarly.

"Did you decide to be a man today and learn how to fight without running away and crying?"  His brother laughed at their father's mocking tone.

"I can fight like any other man, I'm not afraid."  He truly wasn’t afraid.  The Samwell Tarly he had been at this age would never have spoken so assuredly to his father.  He wasn't that boy, not anymore.  There is a flicker in his father's eyes, something Sam has only ever seen directed at Dickon.

"Where has this boy come from?" Was his father actually amused?  Was that even possible?

"I must be a man, I know that now more than ever." _How can I explain why_? "Why is not important."

"Then take up a sword and prove it."

Sam picked up a practice sword, and heard his brother gasp in surprise.  Their father drew a real sword, thankfully not their family blade.  He swung his fake sword in defense.   _I can't lose; he will kill me.  If I die, then we all lose.  I killed you father, and I can do it again._

Although his muscles were not accustomed to the movements he was making, he still remembered his skill.  Disarming an opponent was never about your own strength, but about the other person's weaknesses.

He could sense a crowd beginning to form.  He could hear their shouts.  He only saw his father trying to cut him down.   _I killed you.  I burned you._ He saw his opening and took it.  He managed to twist the blade from his father's hand and crack his tourney sword hard across his father's wrist.  There was silence when he picked up his father's sword.

He knew that he would never forget that moment for the rest of his life.  His father pushed himself up, and for the only time in Sam's memory, smiled at his son. "Good job."

Never, not in the whole of his life, could he remember praise coming from his father's lips. "Thank you," he breathed, in shock and exhaustion.  He needed to work hard to retrain his muscles.

"Where is the craven who went to bed in tears last night?"

_He went to the Wall over a decade ago..._ "I decided that it is time for me to be a new man."

"And what would this new man plan to do with his life?"

He drew a deep breath.  His father would not approve of what he had to say next.  "I will become a maester of the Citadel." His father's eyes turned hard again. "You have always wanted Dickon to be your heir, and so he shall be.  Upon completion of my studies I will join the Night's Watch, which you were going to have me do anyway."  To his credit, he did not falter.

Stone-faced, his father stared at him.  Neither looked away, Sam did not dare to do so.  He could feel the eyes of the people upon them, waiting with bated breath to know what would happen.

"When will you leave?'

Sam almost laughed in relief. "By week's end."

His father gave a brisk nod of the head and turned away.  A moment later his father was yelling at everyone to stop standing around wasting time.  Sam, seeing nothing else to do, returned to the house and began to pack.  It was too early to send the letters, so he packed them away until it was the proper time.

He left three days later with a better send off than when he was sent to the Wall.  His mother, brother, and sisters all embraced him.  His father even shook his hand.  Samwell Tarly, the last survivor of Westeros, finally had the respect of his family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam totally kept the sword... No, the list of names is not what he wrote, those are his thoughts while he is writing. Yes, the list of names is incomplete, there are 30ish characters who remember the future, but not all will be POVs. 28 year old Sam is pretty amazing.


	7. Margaery

It was two weeks before Margaery Tyrell managed a routine that did not seem unusual to her family, friends, and servants at Highgarden. At first she kept wondering if it was all a trick, or perhaps a dream?  Every day there were events that she could vaguely remember.  Bits of old news and half remembered conversations flitted through her mind as she heard them from the lips of long lost family and friends.  She checked and rechecked the calendars of the maesters and septons each day, but the dates only progressed by one.  She eventually resigned herself to the strange fact that she was indeed living in the past; her own past.

In a strange way, as she grew more accustomed to living her old life, she felt free.  She would spend hours in the gardens.  She would touch each flower, each tree that she passed.  She basked in the warmth of the summer days, wanting them to never end.  She knew that the eternal winter was coming, but until then, she was determined to enjoy every moment of summer.

She was curled on some cushions in the garden maze, reading when her brother arrived to disturb her reverie.  “There is talk that you have been acting strangely, sweet sister.”

She turned at his voice and smiled happily.  She had not seen him since the fall of King’s Landing.  He had escaped with the Queen, while she remained with the King.  “Garlan, when did you arrive?”

He seated himself beside her and kissed her cheek.  “We arrived several hours ago.  Willas worries about you.  He claims that you have been acting strangely.  Grandmother and mother say that you are just being a young woman.”

She laughed and sighed.  “I am just enjoying the summer.  This is the longest summer in recorded history.  I fear that the legends of long summers leading to longer winters may be true.  So I have decided to enjoy every moment of our summer.”

He regarded her strangely, observing her as though he had not seen her in years instead of a few months.  Something in his eyes hardened at the mention of a long winter.  It was the same hardness she felt in herself when she thought upon the winter.  He looked away from her, to the gardens and closed his eyes while he inhaled deeply.  “Do you remember the winter?”  His voice was quiet, as though he were afraid of what he said.

She felt her world stop for a moment.  Did he remember what she remembered?  Was she losing her mind?  She took a deep breath and smiled.  She could not remember when she had learned to smile through everything, but she was eternally grateful for the ability.  “Yes.”

He laughed and embraced her tightly.  “I was hoping.  When they said that you were acting strangely.  That your behavior changed the same day...  I knew what the Queen was planning.  When we escaped the capital...  I wanted to save you.  I...”

She sobbed against his neck and then laughed.  “We’re here again; we’re safe.  Do you know how?”

“A spell, a curse, the vilest spell ever written.  I never learned all of the specifics of the curse.  I had no desire to learn more than I was told initially.  It was a time travel spell, designed to take a person’s soul to a point in their past.  I guess that the Queen eventually used the spell.”

“That doesn’t seem vile.”

“Dany used the curse for the benefit of the whole world.  Think about what could happen if the wrong person used it.”

She contemplated the idea of anyone being able to travel through time, and found it to be disturbing.  A good person trying to change the course of history would be a godsend.  An evil person, using the same curse, could destroy the world.  She nodded slowly.  “I see your point.  So, whenever she used this spell, she returned some of us with her?”

“It would appear that is the case.  I do not know how many of us were returned, or what all we can do to change the future.”

“Did she believe that we can stop the war?  Did she have a plan?”  Margaery Tyrell was no longer the thrice wed, thrice widowed, former Queen of Westeros.  She was no longer the mistress of King Aegon Targaryen, by birth a Blackfyre.  She was just the maiden daughter of Lord Mace Tyrell.  She had no power in her current position, no say in her future. How could she prevent the War of Five Kings and the famines that followed?  How could she prevent the Others from breaching the Wall and destroying Westeros?

“Dany thought that people who lived during the wars should, in theory, be able to prevent them from starting.”

“Well that is marvelously helpful,” she said with a smile, though her tone was purely sarcastic.  “When did you start referring to her grace as Dany?”

He looked toward the sky, breathing in the warm summer air.  “In the end we were all called by our given names.  For all the horrors that we faced, the lack of titles was comforting.  We were friends, brothers and sisters fighting the same war.”

“How long after King’s Landing did you live,” she asked quietly, remembering the world she had come from.

She could remember the last days and hours of her life.  The Queen was flying over the city on Drogon, burning a barrier around the city.  The battles lasted for days, until they started sending as many ships as possible out of the city.  King Aegon refused to leave, saying that he would not abandon his people.  Queen Daenerys led the ships from the city, the leader of those who would survive.  Margaery stayed beside the King, as she had throughout the short reigns of her three husbands.  The survivors of King’s Landing gathered at the Red Keep, watching their death approaching.  As the walls were breached, they unleashed the remaining wildfire caches onto the hordes of undead and Others.  The fire burned everything, and eventually the flames swallowed those who remained alive within the Keep. Everyone had agreed that they would rather die by the flames than become thralls of the Others.  Margaery had died with Aegon’s arms wrapped around her.

“Three, maybe four years after the Fall of King’s Landing.  The few of us who were alive after the remaining parts of the Wall fell were making our way north to meet a boy.”

“A boy?  In the far north?”

“As incredible as that seems, yes.  It must have worked.”

“Do you think that we can prevent the war?  So many things need to be different this time.”

He gave her a gentle smile and held her hands.  “I believe that the first step that Highgarden can make is a betrothal for you.”

She laughed.  She had been betrothed and married and used as a pawn for so many years that the idea of marrying again was quite a joke.  “Whom do you think I should marry this time?”

“The Heir to Winterfell.”

Her eyes widened.  “Robb Stark?”  If she married the Young Wolf, then indeed history would shift.  “Would our family agree to that?  You know their ambitions.”

The glimmer in his eyes was unmistakable.  “Do you think that we can convince our dear grandmother that a marriage between yourself and the Heir of the North is advantageous?”

She smiled brilliantly at her brother.  “I do believe we can.”


	8. Eddard

Ned awoke to find his bed empty. While Catelyn waking up before him to check on the children or work on any of a dozen tasks was far from unusual, he enjoyed the mornings when she was still abed with him. He was certain that he would find her before he left that day. He had to ride at daybreak with his men, and three eldest sons, to execute a deserter from the Night's Watch. Ned never enjoyed killing, but knew his duty. His father had instilled duty in him, just as he hoped he was doing for his own sons.

He dressed for the day. Late summer in the North was brisk and cool. He could feel that winter was coming in his bones. His blood told him that the winter would be harsh. Long summers bred longer winters. Only the strong survived winter, that was why Bran needed to see this execution, despite Catelyn's protests that he was still too young.

He went to Bran's room, to make sure that his son was getting ready for the day. Surprisingly, Bran was missing. Bran always tended to sleep late, like Arya and Rickon. He walked to Rickon's room, wondering if the boys were together, but found that room to be empty as well.

He walked down the hallway and found the door to Robb's room ajar and beheld the strangest sight upon entering. Upon Robb's bed, sleeping, were his wife and all their children, except for Bran who was sleeping across from Jon in a window lounge. Catelyn's arms were wrapped around Sansa, who was holding Rickon. Robb and Arya were curled together on the opposite side of the bed. He was uncertain whether or not he should find the sight heartwarming or troubling. He could not determine why his family would all be asleep in Robb's room.

Arya stirred first. Her silver eyes observing him for several long moments before she slipped out of her brother's embrace and dashed silently across the room into his arms. "Father," she murmured into his shoulder, a tinge of sadness in her voice.

"What has transpired that all of you have fallen asleep in Robb's room," he questioned quietly but firmly.

She pulled back from him and frowned. "We all awoke late in the night, and fell asleep here."

"And why did you all awaken and decide to converse in the middle of the night?"

Her face became a mask, frightfully calm and still. "I think that we should discuss that once everyone else awakens."

He gazed at her appraisingly. He had never heard Arya speak so formally to him before. The day was young and it was becoming stranger by the moment. "Your brothers and I are supposed to be riding out at daybreak."

"The man you are going to see will still be there after speaking with us, will he not? Why not share the morning meal with all of us, and then ride to do your duties?"

He sighed with defeat. Arya was never so polite, never so well spoken. Clearly something had happened, something about which his entire family was aware. If the whole of his family was behaving strangely, dealing with that was far more important to deal with than the deserter. "As you wish. Will you remain here until everyone else awakens? I will have our morning meal brought to my solar and we will all eat together. I will also inform my men that we will be riding out later than was planned."

She favored him with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "That sounds like a good plan."

He kissed her atop the head before he left to have their morning meal prepared and delivered to his solar. Within the hour, the meal was ready and his family was gathered together. Their moods were strange. Catelyn was unusually quiet, but embraced him and kissed him as though he had gone away for months. Rickon would not stop clinging to Cat, and she did not correct him once. Arya did not fidget, not even in the slightest. She was polite and calm. Sansa seemed troubled, as did Robb. Jon and Bran both seemed tense.

None of them really ate, except for Rickon. Everyone else just picked at the food. Even Ned found himself without an appetite. "What is going on," he demanded. His voice was quiet and calm, but filled with frustration.

There were uneasy glances amongst the children and his wife, except for Rickon. A beat past. His youngest child looked up from his meal, and declared with a firm voice, "We died and came back, father." Rickon returned to his meal without a moment's hesitation.

"I sent our souls backward in time," Bran continued calmly.

Ned stared at his son. Bran held his gaze firmly and unwavering. Why would his child say such a thing? Was this just a strange dream?

"Ned," Cat said with a gentle smile. "This will seem impossible and strange, but everything that we tell you will be true. Each of us lived and died in a future that has yet to pass."

Perhaps they all devised a lie together for some strange reason? "If this is true, what proof do you have?"

Jon looked at him with impossibly cold eyes. "You are my uncle, not my father. Is that proof enough for you?"

Eddard Stark felt fear clench at his gut. Every time he thought upon Jon's parentage he was afraid. "How do you know?"

A strange half-smile flitted across Jon's lips. "Lord Howland Reed found me and told me everything. I have been old enough to know the truth for years now. Why didn't you trust me enough to tell me the truth? Do you really think that your sister would have wanted me to be kept in the dark forever?"

A sickening chill spread down Ned's spine. It was impossible. So impossible that it was also the only rational explanation.  _Promise me Ned. Keep him safe. Promise me..._ His sister's son. The boy he had adopted as his own. The boy who was the son of his heart and blood but not body. Only Howland knew, and the nurse. It was not safe to speak of these things. It was treason. They would all be killed if the wrong person knew.

"I had to keep all of you safe." Catelyn took his hand in hers and squeezed gently. Her eyes were not angry, as he anticipated, but incredibly sad. "I would rather not have this discussion with so many young ears." He looked at Rickon specifically. The boy was too young to not repeat anything.

"Ned." Catelyn shook her head knowingly. "The rest of us have already had this discussion. Rickon is not quite as young as he seems. None of our children are as young as they seem."

"I'm seven," Rickon piped up, grinning as only a four year old can.

Ned felt dizzy. None of this was possible. "How old are the rest of you," he dared to ask.

"I died at six and ten," Robb stated grimly.

The rest of his children said the ages they died at one by one. He could hear the strange changes in each of their voices. Children's voices that held no childishness. Twenty and one for Sansa. Nine and ten for Arya, as best she could determine, she may have turned twenty. Twenty and five for Jon.

"I did not die father," Bran began. "I was about twenty years old when the Queen and I sent our souls and the souls of friends and helpers back through time. I never meant for mother to remember, but it may have been helpful to have both of you remember. Today is the day the deserter from the Night's Watch is to be executed correct?"

Lord Stark affirmed his son's question. He had not told Bran what crime the man who was due to be executed had committed. The doubts he was trying to make up kept fading away. Everything was so impossible. His children were all acting in ways that they never had before. They knew too many secrets. He knew that it was not a dream. He knew that he had not lost his mind. He knew that they were not lying.

"We must not execute him," Bran continued. "Not until after we learn everything that he has to tell us, anyway. I do not know if you believe us yet or not, but there is much that we will need to tell you."

Ned ran his hands wearily across his face and through his hair. "I believe. I wish that I did not." He sighed heavily and had a very strong wish that there was something stronger to drink for their morning meal than tea and lemon water. "Before I hear what all of you have to say, I must apologize to all of you for lying. What I did not tell you was for your own protection. Cat, Jon, I will speak to both of you at length, alone. I will still need to ride out today to deal with the deserter, but I want to hear what all of you have to say as well. Tell me what happened, a short version, so that we do not delay our departure for too long."

There were furtive glances between his family members. Catelyn began for the group. She grasped his hand and spoke swiftly. She spoke of treasons and wars and murders. When her bloody tale ended, Jon began his story. Bran added information into Jon's tale that helped explain why keeping the deserter from the Night's Watch alive was so vital. The Others were back. All of his life Eddard had believed that the Long Night and the Others were just legends. He wanted to still believe that the Others were just legends.

Bran ended the tale with himself and four other people inside a cave with Children of the Forest. Apparently the Children of the Forest were real as well? Bran said that an ancient barrier of the Children broke while they were gathered. Two of the people and all of the Children left the cave to fend off the Others while Bran and Daenerys Targaryen cast a curse to send their souls through time.

"Then we woke up here," Bran finished.

There was a long moment of quiet. There was obviously much more of the tale that remained unspoken. Eddard would need to speak with each of his children, and his wife, individually before he could fully understand the ramifications of everything he had just heard.

"We must get ready to ride out," Ned announced finally. "We have delayed too long already and I do not want anyone to think aught is amiss."

"Yes father." His children replied together.

"Of course Ned," Catelyn replied with a tight smile.

He kissed his wife, daughters, and Rickon farewell, and prepared for the day's journey with the elder three boys. The few hours of riding would help him work through everything that had been thrown at him that morning. When they arrived, the deserter confirmed the tales of Jon and Bran about Others and the undead beyond the Wall. Instead of executing him right away, he returned with them to Winterfell. Eddard wanted to learn as much as he could from the terrified man. He thought that his day could not be any stranger, but Jon, Robb, and Bran found six direwolf pups. They called them by name, and said that they knew the wolves were there, waiting. It was not until they were nearly back at Winterfell that Eddard realized Theon Greyjoy had not ridden with them as had been planned for that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is reading this tale; I love you all!
> 
> Eddard was very, very hard to write! The chapters will probably be getting longer as I go.
> 
> This story is not completely chronological, as you have already seen. At some point everyone will be caught up and the whole back story will be revealed, but not yet.
> 
> There will also be some arranged marriages of a political nature, as was alluded to last chapter. These will sometimes work out fine, and sometimes not so much.
> 
> Last of all, I am a firm believer that Jon is Lyanna and Rhaegar's child, there is no other theory I will believe.


	9. Arya

Arya and Sansa escaped to the godswood soon after their father and brother's departed.  Their mother, who was adapting remarkably well to their old life, had wanted them to have their normal lessons with the septa.

"What could she possibly teach us mother," Sansa had asked, a bitter edge was in her voice.

"We aren't the children we seem to be," Arya added.

Their mother regarded them shrewdly.  "I am aware of that.  I am also quite aware that people will notice if my children suddenly stop their studies.  Take the day to reflect, but tomorrow you must behave as everyone expects of you, understood?"

"Of course mother," Sansa replied politely.  She grabbed Arya's hand and pulled her out of the room before Arya could protest.

Sansa continued walking until they reached the godswood.  She had relaxed her grip on Arya's hand as they went.

"I don't want to be treated like a child again," Arya complained.

Sansa laughed bitterly.  "Do you think that I want to be treated like a child again?  I had a husband and two sons remember?"

Arya sighed and sat down in the grass, plucking at the blades around her.  "And now you are an eleven year old girl again.  I was an assassin, and now I am a nine year old girl again.”

Sansa sank to the grass beside her.  “Can you still change faces?”

Arya chewed her lip for a moment.  She did not know if she could do it or not.  She had not thought about doing so yet.  She closed her eyes and focused on how to transform.  She had not needed to change faces in years.

When word of the Others reached Braavos, she was permitted to return to Westeros.  Shortly after reaching Gulltown, Arya had learned the fate of her sister.  Lady Sansa of House Stark was also the Lady of the Vale, married to Lord Hardyng of the Vale.  They were well known for trying to stave off the famines and for lending their support to the Targaryen King and Queen.  Arya reached Sansa at the Gates of the Moon shortly before her second son was born.

The sisters remained together until Sansa died when the Other’s attacks finally breached the Gates of the Moon.  There were survivors, Arya was amongst them.  As they were escaping the Vale, they were attacked again.  They fought through the long night, setting fire to the animated corpses of their former friends, including Sansa.  Arya had been one of the few to survive that night.  Afterward, she wandered aimlessly northward.  She was determined to die as close to home as she could.  She died alone, somewhere in the middle of the North.

Arya waved her hand across her face and opened her eyes.  The look upon Sansa’s face confirmed that she was still, in a sense, no one.  She changed her face back to ‘Arya’ a moment later.

“Apparently I can.”  She couldn’t help but wonder what that meant.  Did she still owe her allegiance to the many faced god?  Were the secrets of the guild still hers to keep?  Would they discover her existence?

“Then what have you lost?”  Sansa looked up at the trees around them, avoiding eye contact.  “We have our home, our parents, our brothers, and each other.  I will treasure these moments that we have together again.  I will do anything that I can in order to help change the future.”  She paused for a moment, emotion choking her voice.  “Even if my sons are never born.  So don’t complain to me about having to sit and sew and learn to be proper all over again.  Not when you have lost nothing.”

Arya grabbed her sister’s hand and squeezed.  “I don’t want to lose you again.  I don’t want to lose father and mother and our brothers again.  I lost all of you.  I was there when father died.  I was there when Robb and Mother died.  I was there when you and your sons died.  This is the last place I want to be.  I want to be out there fighting.  I can’t do that as a child.  I can’t do that while sitting and sewing.”

Sansa looked her in the eyes.  There was steel in her sky blue eyes.  “Wasn’t your sword called Needle?”

Arya let out an involuntary snicker.  “Yes, why?”

She smiled.  “We can learn to sew together don’t you think?”

“You want to learn how to use a sword?”

“I want know how to fight.  I want to know how to defend myself.  I want to be able to defend the people I love.”  Sansa’s smile and strength warmed Arya’s heart.  “What do you think?  Sit with me through our lessons every day and then train with me afterward.”

“I think that I like you more now than the first time we were nine and eleven.”

Sansa huffed a little.  “I don’t even remember myself at this age.”

She rolled her eyes.  “You think that life is a song.  You dream of love and duty and gallant knights.”

“Life is not a song,” she muttered with a faraway look.  She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Are you cold?”

She looked afraid.  “I’ve been cold ever since I woke up.  I was killed by an Other.  It was so cold.  What if they can control me still?”

Arya laughed.  “They don’t, not now at least.  If you get taken over again, I promise you that I will kill you.”

She gave her sister a wry grin.  “For that I thank you.”

Arya returned her smile and then lay down in the grass, looking up at the sky through the leaves of the trees.  Sansa lay beside her a few moments later.  “I missed the godswood and summer,” Sansa murmured.  “And grass.  I missed Winterfell.  If I never see King’s Landing this time I will die happily.”

“Even if the Others kill you?”

“I think that I would rather die by the Others than deal with the Lannisters again.”

_Joffrey, Cersei, Ser Illyn, Ser Meryn, Ser Gregor, the Tickler, Raff the Sweetling, Dunsen, the Hound, Lord Walder, Tywin Lannister, Roose Bolton, Ramsay Snow.  Valar morghulis._

Unbidden, the very long list of names ran through her mind.  She knew there were more people whom she had forgotten.  Names that she had promised to the god of death.  Names that had been given to the god of death.  She wanted them to die again.  She would kill each and every one of them a second time if she could.  A blade in her hand.  A blade in their throats.

Her passion for killing had lessened before she became truly faceless.  Death was now an art.  Death was now a gift.  She was no longer the young child who had wished to be a swordswoman.  Neither was she the young girl who sought nothing but blood.  She had become a sword.  A sword who could smile and laugh like a normal girl.  A sword who killed when killing was needed.

The sword sighed.  She found herself agreeing with her sister’s desire to never deal with the Lannisters again, but knew there would be no way to avoid the Lords of the Westerlands.  _I am nine again.  I can pretend to be blissfully ignorant, at least for today._

“We get our wolves again today.”

“I know.  I can’t wait until they return.”

“It’s so strange, seeing everyone again.  We all lived to be older than Robb, except poor Rickon.”

“Drowning seems like a terrible death.”

“Says the girl who was killed and reanimated by an almost immortal enemy.  I starved to death remember?  I think that I would have rather drowned.”

“You can this time around if you want.”  Arya ripped a wad of grass from the ground and threw it at Sansa’s face.  She spluttered and jumped into a sitting position.  “What was that for!”

She wrinkled her nose and laughed, pushing herself onto one elbow.  “I will die with a sword in my hand as I did the first time.”

Her sister pulled up grass and threw it back at her.  They proceeded to throw grass at one another for several minutes before falling to the ground giggling.  They eventually returned to the Keep to clean up and figure out what tasks they were supposed to actually do that day.  They made a game of trying to remember the names of the people in the castle.  Arya was better by far than Sansa at remembering the names of the people they saw.

At some point, Jeyne Poole appeared.  The girl wanted Sansa to spend time with her instead of Arya, which Sansa promptly disagreed with.  “I am spending today with my sister,” she declared.  “Either spend time with both of us, or we will see one another tomorrow for our lessons.”  Arya remembered how much she loved her sister in that moment.  Surprisingly, Jeyne stayed with them.

It was late in the day when their father and brothers returned.  Lord Stark seemed exhausted, but greeted Sansa and Arya with a kiss when he arrived.  He was holding a small direwolf pup.  Jon and Robb followed after him, and gave the girls their direwolves.  Bran was behind them, holding his wolf.

“Nymeria.”

“Lady.”

The girls murmured the names of their wolves happily as they snuggled them.

“I have been told that this direwolf is your youngest brother’s,” their father said.  As he was speaking, their mother and Rickon arrived.  Lord Stark handed the pup to his youngest child.

“Shaggy,” the boy exclaimed, cuddling the small wolf close.

A thin smile lit briefly across their father’s face.  “Have any of you seen Theon today?  He was supposed to ride out with us, but did not.”  Sansa, Arya, and their mother all said that they had not seen him at all.  “I must go speak with him then.”

“No,” Bran announced.  “I will go.  I believe that I returned his memories as well.  Robb, would you mind looking after Summer for me?”

“I will make sure that he is fed,” Robb replied, taking the small silver-grey pup from his brother.  “Let’s go feed them.  That is, if there is nothing else you need father?”

Lord Stark smiled at his children.  “Go, feed them.  We will dine together tonight in my solar.”

Arya, Sansa, Robb, Jon, and Rickon headed to the kitchens to feed their wolves.  Bran walked away to find and speak with Theon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your support!


	10. Theon

Theon was terrified when he awoke to see the walls of Winterfell around him.  He remembered Ramsay Bolton so vividly that he cowered beneath his furs.  He thought that it was hours before he calmed enough to remember that he had seen both Lord Bolton and his son die in battle.  Shortly after that, he remembered that Winterfell had been abandoned.

Theon had been allowed to join the Night's Watch, under the absolutely terrifying Lord Commander Snow.  Jon had died, it was said, reanimated by the sorceress Melisandre.  There was a falling out of sorts between the Lady Melisandre and King Stannis, Theon never learned the specifics of their disagreement.  Theon went with Stannis to the Nightfort.  They were among the first to die when the Wall was breached.

He had always assumed that he would awaken in the Drowned God's watery halls.  Awakening in Winterfell, he could not help but wonder if the Drowned God had rejected him?  Was he meant to dwell eternally in Winterfell as a punishment?  Did the Northern Gods accept him instead?  Would Robb find and punish him for betrayal now that they were both in the afterlife?

He did not move from the bed when he grew hungry. Surely the hunger was just a test?  He did use the chamber pot to relieve himself when he needed to, but afterward just returned to the bed.

When a servant girl arrived to clean up his room, she seemed shocked that he was still abed.  Her surprise at his presence made him very confused.  Was he really alive?  He did not think that to be possible at all.

"Are you feeling well milord?  You said yesterday that you were riding out today with Lord Stark, so I should clean your chambers after you went away.  Do you want me to fetch the maester?"

He stared blankly at her for quite some time before responding.   "I need to rest.   Please, bring me something to eat."

"Of course milord."

She shuffled out of the room, and returned within the hour with a tray of food and drink.  Theon picked at the food after she left.  The food tasted real enough.  The ale tasted strong enough.  When he finished, he walked around the room to try solving the puzzle he had found himself within.

He spent a long time studying pieces of clothing and trinkets that were scattered about the room.  He recognized the room as the one he had grown up in.  He had remembered his clothes, weapons, and other personal effects.  Eventually, he retreated back to his bed.  There was no way that what he was seeing was real.  He had died at the Wall.  He had to be in the afterlife, as strange as the afterlife seemed.

It was late in the afternoon when his door opened again.  Young Brandon Stark stood in the doorway for a moment before closing the door behind himself.  The boy’s face was stern and impassive, very like a Stark despite his Tully features.  Theon was happy to know that the boy could walk again.

“Well,” Theon began.  “It could be worse.  Robb could have been the first person to see me.  I am sorry you know, for everything.  I just wanted to make my father proud.  I failed at that too.”

Bran’s look changed from impassive to confused.  “Theon, what do you think is happening?”

“I’m dead aren’t I?  This is the afterlife, at least I assume it is, nothing else makes sense.  I remember dying and I know that Winterfell is abandoned.”

Bran took a seat on a stool near the bed.  “You aren’t dead.  This is the past.  I used a spell to return our souls to our past selves.”

Theon mulled over that information for a little while.  He was hungry again, he was thirsty again, neither of which seemed useful if this was the afterlife.  His room was as he remembered it from his youth.  He knew that spells and magic were real.  Living at the Wall near the end had made disbelief in the supernatural impossible.  Was it possible that Bran was really telling the truth?

“If this is the past and not the afterlife, when are we?”

“Today we got the direwolves.  I remembered this day specifically, and remembered that today things began to change.  Father is supposed to get the letter about Lord Arryn’s death today.”

Theon laughed.  “Before the wars?  Why come back at all?  Death welcomed us one by one, why not embrace death.”

The ice returned to Bran’s face.  A face so fiercely devoid of warmth that no child could naturally muster.  “So that the war ends differently this time.  We did not all just die.  The Others won the world.  It is our duty to save the world.  The cost was high, higher than anyone knows, save Daenerys and myself.”

“You met the Queen?”

He nodded solemnly.  “We were the two most powerfully magical people alive.  I guided them all the way north.  It took four years from the Fall of King’s Landing until they were able to reach me.  I guided them and shielded them as best I could.  In the end the copies of the curse and Daenerys were able to reach me.”

“So, you used this curse to take some people through time... to prevent the wars?”

“Among other things.  We need armies at the Wall.  We need provisions and supplies.  None of which will happen if the War of Five Kings takes place.  We need your loyalty.  If not, I do believe that you remember the Boltons.”

An anxious smile flitted across Theon’s lips.  “I swear to you that House Greyjoy will remain loyal to House Stark this time.”  He remembered Ramsay’s blades all too well.  The thought of Ramsay made him want to curl under his covers again.  The North was for the Starks, not the flayed men or iron men.

“I returned your sister as well.  Dany and I tried to return people we knew from every Great House of Westeros.  Although, perhaps it was unwise to return Rickon and not father.”

“How do you plan to defeat the Others?”

The darkness that had been lifting ever so slightly from Bran’s demeanor returned like a cloak.  “Dany is going to Asshai to hatch the eggs, bring back as much dragonglass as possible, and find the missing parts of the curse.  Sam is going to the Citadel to find the part of the curse we used in the future as well as other parts of the curse which were missing.  A third group must find the last pieces to the curse at the Wall.”

Theon was lost.  The same curse had three parts scattered across the world?  “How will this curse defeat the Others?”  Afterward, Theon would regret ever asking that question.  Afterward, Theon would wish that he had awoken in the afterlife, because it would be far less terrifying.  He would have to go on each day from that moment pretending that he was just happy, smiling Theon Greyjoy, the ward of Lord Stark, pretending that he didn’t know the truth.

“It is a curse to remove souls or control souls.  It was taken apart eons ago and spread to the far corners of the world, but not before its creator used the spell.  This curse is the only way to stop the Others because it is the same curse that created the Others.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I was going to make this chapter a bit longer, but wanted to leave it on that sentence. We will get out of Winterfell again shortly and explore the South and East soon.
> 
> Bran and Dany are both going to be rather dark in this tale, more Bran than Dany.
> 
> I love the support from all of you!! :)
> 
> To my readers who are worrying about pairings. There are arranged marriages, there are plans for arranged marriages, there are established relationships in this timeline and in the previous timeline... The end results you will know when we get there. This is not a romance tale even though there will be relationships of the variety above.  
> I mean, maybe Robb will marry Asha after she calls him "The King who lost the North" (That's not going to happen... but now you kinda want that to happen.)


	11. Jon

Jon turned his fork idly in his hand.  They were waiting for Bran and their father to arrive for the evening meal.  Lord Stark had followed Bran to Theon’s room some minutes after Bran.  When they finally arrived to their meal, both seemed exhausted.  They tiredly took their places and everyone began to eat.

Jon felt sorry for his adopted father.  He was unsure how he should feel about his uncle who had raised him as a son.  Jon had spent many nights after Lord Reed had told him the truth contemplating what it all meant.  He had never expected to see Eddard Stark again.  He had never anticipated being able to ask why he was never told the truth.  He accepted that the lies of Lord Stark were to protect everyone, but that didn’t make the deception less painful.  Today however, no matter how complex his emotions were, Jon could not help but feel pity for Lord Stark.  Waking up with memories of dying and being reborn by R’hllor and then dying again was difficult enough, but waking up with no memory of the future while your whole family had memories of impossible events was not something that Jon would wish upon anyone.

"I have spoken at length with both Bran and Theon," Lord Stark began soon after he had eaten a few bites.  "I know what transpired here.  I know that all of you remember.  However, I will not hold anyone accountable for actions that have not been committed yet.  Would that I could avenge the crimes committed against all of you, but to myself and the whole of Westeros, those events have never happened."

"They are still guilty," Arya muttered in her strange, hollow tone.

"Not by the laws of gods and men," their father replied.  "I know that there were grievous crimes against our House, and I am certain that there is much that I do not yet know.  I will not execute men for crimes they have not yet committed."

"They would do it again if you gave them the chance," she replied, her eyes glinting in the candlelight.  "I would give them quick deaths father.  No one would see them as anything but accidents."

Lord Stark appraised his younger daughter for a few moments.  "What did you become during your other life?"

She smiled, that strange smile that did not quite reach her eyes and in no way reminded Jon of Arya.  "I became a Braavosi sell sword."  To her credit, Sansa did not seem surprised this time. Not like she had in the middle of the night when they had all shared brief versions of their lives during the wars. Whatever Arya had become, Sansa knew the truth.

"Why are you lying," Jon probed casually.

A glimmer of surprise lighted across her face, and then faded into her mask.  "What do you mean?"

"You lie well, Sansa's face does not.  Tell us the truth."

She paused, sipped her water, and cocked her head at him with an air of confusion.  "I have no idea what you mean."

He started to protest again, but Sansa cut him off.  "Jon stop.  She can't tell us anything else.  It's not safe."

A thick silence fell.   _She's an assassin,_ Jon realized as a sudden chill went down his spine.   _Braavos is the home of the Faceless Men_.  Their father must have reached the same conclusion because he simply cleared his throat and changed subjects.

"Rickon, can you tell me what happened before you woke up this morning?"

Rickon's tale was short and sad.  After Winterfell was sacked, he had escaped to Skagos with a wildling woman named Osha.  They were rescued, but their ship sank close to shore.  Rickon drowned.  His memory was surprisingly clear for a child of such few years.  He wanted Osha back, but was happy to be home.

Bran did not say much about the past, but did inform them that he was sending out letters in the morning to people whose memories he had returned.  He was not forthcoming with any names of people who should remember the future.

Sansa told her tale next.  Jon suspected that much like Arya, she was avoiding details. Although the way she paused at parts it was possible that she had forgotten a lot of what had transpired.  She spoke little of King’s Landing.  She only vaguely mentioned Petyr Baelish and his role in her marriage to the heir of the Vale.  She mentioned her children and Arya’s reappearance. Lady Catelyn cried at the mention of Sansa's lost children.  Lord Stark's eyes were filled with tears, and he held his elder daughter's hand across the table.

Arya proceeded to tell an incredible tale about her escape from King's Landing.  She spoke at length about Harrenhal, the brotherhood without banners, the ghost of High Heart, and the night of the Red Wedding.  She talked about the Hound and her sea voyage to Braavos.  Jon suspected that her story might have some embellishments, but she wove the tale well. When she was finished, Lord Stark dismissed everyone for the evening.

Jon, and his sibling-cousins had smuggled their direwolves to their bed chambers.  Jon suspected that without his little Ghost, he might not have slept at all that night.  Too many thoughts and fears ran through his mind when he closed his eyes.  It was only the small, warm presence of his direwolf that was able to sooth him.

He dreamed that night.

He dreamt of fire filling his lungs, breathed from a woman with full lips and red eyes.  _“Live, Jon Snow.”_   The men he had called brothers trembled before him.  The wildlings cowered in fear.  A woman with honey-blonde hair and pale eyes was the first to kneel before him, unafraid.

Dark shadows filled the sky, screeching.  The Dragon Queen fought beside them as the Wall was besieged by creatures whose eyes glowed blue.  The Wall cracked.  The world went dark.

Jon awoke gasping and coughing.  He felt something wet beside him and realized that his direwolf had wet the bed.  Jon sighed and rolled his eyes at the little white ball of fur who was looking at him expectantly.  “You want me to feed you don’t you?”  The direwolf did not reply, but Jon already knew that it was probably time to feed his wolf.  He carried the pup to the kitchen and found Robb already working on feeding Grey Wind.

“You know, at this rate we may sleep through Maester Luwin’s lessons,” Jon said with a smile.

Robb let out a light laugh.  “I can’t sleep.  I tried, truly, but every time I closed my eyes I saw blood everywhere.  I can still feel the blade going through me.”

Jon knelt beside his brother and began to feed Ghost.  “At least you only died once.  I dreamt of both my deaths.”

“Two deaths?”

He gave a grim nod of the head.  “Stabbed to death by my brothers of the Watch because they thought I was breaking my oaths.  Resurrected by the god R’hllor.  Named King in the North, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, and Prince of Dragonstone.  Killed by the Wall collapsing while I was atop of it.”

Robb shivered visibly.  “Did you have a single good day up there?”

Jon remembered the woman with honey-blonde hair and the way she would smile at him when no one else was around.  He remembered a girl who was kissed by fire, with a pug nose and crooked teeth.  He remembered Sam, Pyp, Grenn, Edd, and a dozen brothers in arms whom he had called friend.  He smiled.  “I fell in love with two different wildling women.”

His brother laughed.  “I thought that was forbidden?”

“I did get stabbed to death for oath-breaking, remember?  Ygritte was...”  How could Jon describe her in words?  She was half-remembered kisses and that day in the cave.  She was the climb up the Wall and the loss of innocence.  “She was kissed by fire, that’s what the wildlings call people with red hair.  They said that red hair was lucky.”

“What happened to her?”

He remembered holding her dead body in his arms.  _“You know nothing Jon Snow...”_   “She died while attacking Castle Black.”  They sat quietly for a few moments before Jon sighed and continued on.  “Val was after I died the second time.  She threated to steal me more than once, so I finally stole her.”

“Stole?”

Jon cracked a smile.  “The wildlings marry by stealing the partner they want.  You cannot steal a wife of another man.  Women have been known to steal a man.”

Robb laughed loudly.  “So you stole her and then she was yours?”

“I was hers and she was mine,” Jon half-whispered.  “She was alive when I died.  I do not know what happened to her or even if she remembers me this time around.”

“If you could marry either of them this time around, would you?”

There was a strangeness to Robb’s voice that Jon could not quite place.  The thoughts of Val and Ygritte distracted him from realizing why at first.  “I don’t know.  I wouldn’t even know how to find either of them now.”  Then he remembered that Robb was murdered because he had broken his betrothal.  “Would you marry the same girl again this time?”

Grief and pain flooded Robb’s face.  “I only married her because I had taken her to bed.  I married her because it was the _honorable_ thing to do.  I did come to love her and she, from what I could see, loved me.  I was winning the war until Theon killed those boys.  I was hurt and grieving and she comforted me so I married her.  I wish that I had married the Frey girl.  I wish that I could kill Theon and Bolton now, this time around.”

Grey Wind yipped at Robb and the boy began to sob.  “I know why we can’t.  The war against the Others is more important than revenge for crimes that have not been committed in this time, but I can’t help but hate them.”

“I wanted to die with you,” Jon soothed.  “I tried to ride south to join you when the war started, but was stopped from breaking my oaths.  I went beyond the Wall to range and was forced to do a hundred things that I should never have done.  When I came back you were already dead.  I was the last Stark, and I wasn’t even a Stark.  So I held the Wall and was killed for trying to help the realm.  They called it oath-breaking, and maybe it was.  The worst part is that I was doing it to save Arya, but the girl wasn’t Arya.  I let the free folk through the Wall so that they wouldn’t come to us as an undead horde.  Then I was killed for my troubles.  I even let Theon live and serve at the Wall because we needed men.  I won’t be a man of the Watch this time.  I will fight beside you, win or lose.”

Robb grasped Jon’s arm firmly.  “I’ll hold you to that Snow.”

They were leaving when the girls arrived to feed their own direwolves.  Arya met Jon’s eyes and smiled, but the smile was hollow.  He knew that he would need to speak with his little sister soon.  He also knew that they were not able to truly sleep either.  Too many dark memories haunted all of their minds.

Lord Stark spent much of the morning talking with Robb.  Jon was told that his turn to speak at length would come that evening, after the day’s lessons with the Maester.  It was mid-day when the first letter arrived, signaling that someone in the south was actively working on changing the timeline.

Sansa was out of breath when she arrived at the training yard.  She was trailed by Arya, Rickon, and Lord and Lady Stark.  Bran, Robb, and Jon looked at their family members with curiosity.  They all looked shocked and relieved.  Sansa held out the letter, which Robb took and read silently.  He stared at the words for several moments, and then began laughing hysterically.  He handed the letter to Bran, who in turn gave the letter to Jon.

Jon found himself reading the words over and over again before his mind would believe what he was reading.

Tywin Lannister was dead.


	12. Jaime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I was not intending on this chapter going where it went. In the end, the direction it went is well... not something I ever anticipated writing? I do not normally write what happens at the end of this chapter...
> 
> Writing this is also the first time I have ever felt sympathy for one of the characters contained within.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your support of this story!

It took a week for Jaime to find his favorite boyhood hiding place in Casterly Rock.  He had not needed to hide himself away there since he was young, but now that his father had died, he felt a pressing need to escape from everyone.  The place he ensconced himself within was a cavern overlooking the ocean.  There were numerous passages which led from the castle, through the mountains, and out to the cliffs.  A person who was not familiar with all the twisting, winding corridors was like to lose their way in the labyrinth of caves.  Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion had made it a game to map the entirety of the passages as children.  This particular overlook was close enough to the main castle that returning was swift, but far enough away that the only noise to be heard was the swell of the ocean below.  He had never told his sister or brother about the cavern, choosing to claim the space as his alone.

The cushions he had smuggled from the castle to his makeshift hideaway as a child were still stacked in a corner of the overlook.  The cushions were stiff from the salt air, worn thin from age, and molding.  He seated himself upon them and looked out at the waves crashing on the rocks below.

He breathed freely for what felt like the first time in forever, staring at the placid line where sea and sky met.  He supposed that he should miss his father.  Tywin Lannister had been his father, but he had never endeared himself to Jaime or his siblings.  Their father was dead, and Tyrion was now the Lord of the Westerlands.  Jaime almost felt pity for his little brother’s new position.

With a deep breath, Jaime wondered idly what it would be like to just sail away as his Uncle Gerion had done so long ago.  What would it be like to just leave Westeros and never look back?  On a normal day he would contemplate the idea of taking Cersei with him on such an adventure, but she had worn on his nerves as of late.  Since their father’s death she often vacillated between rage and utter despair.  She accused Tyrion of poisoning everyone at Joffrey’s nameday feast.  He failed to see how she suspected Tyrion, as their younger brother had fallen ill as well.  Jaime believed that what had killed their father, and thus far five others, was a disease or bad food as the maesters had declared.

Jaime supposed that some of Cersei’s behavior was due to Joffrey still being ill.  Tyrion was recovering, but Joffrey seemed to worsen every day.  Tyrion recovering and becoming the Lord of Casterly Rock was reason enough for Cersei to accuse him of murder.  Jaime supposed that he should feel something for the first of his offspring being ill, but felt no attachment to the boy.  He had felt more attachment to Prince Rhaegar’s daughter and son, but they were long gone.  The princess and prince whom he had been allowed to hold and sworn to protect, were replaced by his own blood whom he had been forbidden from holding more than Cersei deemed appropriate.  Cersei almost never found it appropriate for him to pay any attention to Joffrey, though she was more lenient with Tommen and Myrcella.  Jaime was grateful that Tommen and Myrcella had not fallen ill.  The younger two children were sequestered far away from the sick, and thus far remained healthy.

“Planning on throwing yourself off,” Tyrion’s voice announced behind him.

Jaime jumped, and turned to face his brother.  “Aren’t you still supposed to be abed?”

He shrugged casually.  “I am the Lord of Casterly Rock now, there is no time to be sick.”

That earned a wry grin from Jaime.  “How did you find me?”

“Here?  This was always your hiding place.  Oh don’t be surprised that I know.  I was always the sneaky one remember?  Don’t worry, I won’t tell Cersei.”

“She thinks that you killed father.”

The dwarf raised an eyebrow.  “And got myself ill in the process?  How would that benefit me?”

Jaime sighed wearily.  “Don’t expect me to understand our sister.”

“Ah but you do seem to know her _quite_ well.”  Tyrion’s voice was laced with innuendo, but Jaime refused to be baited.  If Tyrion knew the truth, then he had never voiced an opinion upon the matter of Jaime and Cersei’s relationship.

“There are days when I do not believe I know her at all.  King’s Landing changes people.  There are days when I wish that we could all just return here to live for good.”

“Would you abandon your King?”

The Kingslayer snorted.  “Some king, he brings hundreds of whores into the castle and makes me stand guard while he beds them.  He grows fatter every year and drinks his way through a barrel of wine a week.”

“If he’s really that bad why haven’t you slain him too?”

“And let a child become king?  Cersei would demand the bloody throne for herself.  I love our sister, but would not want to see her sit the Iron Throne.”

“No, I don’t think any of us want that,” Tyrion muttered darkly.

Tyrion joined his brother on the cushions.  Tyrion looked down at the pillows and wrinkled his nose in distaste.  “Have these been here since we were children?”

Jaime laughed.  “Since you started crawling I think.”  The dwarf shook his head and laughed.  They sat quietly for some time.  The sun hung low in the sky, casting an orange glow across the two brothers.  “You’ll need a wife.”

“Ah but who wants to marry an imp?  I may be Lord of the Rock, but the pickings are slim.  Mayhap I will marry a common girl.  I think that would surely offend father even in death.”  He paused a moment, allowing them both to chuckle.  “I _could_ propose marriage to the Dornish Princess, the little Rose of Highgarden, the elder Stark girl, or the Greyjoy girl.”

Jaime stared at his younger brother incredulously.  “Isn’t the Stark girl just a child?”

He shrugged casually.  “Children grow.  There is no need for me to produce an heir just now.  The Lannister line has many heirs, even if I never produce one.”

“I think Cersei would prefer that you never produce an heir.”

“I do believe that our dear father agreed with her on that matter.  Sadly, he has died without removing me from the family.”

“I heard that you are allowing Uncle Kevan to run most of the affairs of the Westerlands.”

“I am.  He is better liked that I and was father’s right hand.  I want these lands to be run well, and do not doubt his skill.”

“A wise decision.”

“Father would be shocked to hear that I can make wise decisions.”

“He always underestimated you.”

Tyrion gave his brother an appraising look and then smiled.  “Oh I know.  Come, let us get back inside before I fall ill again from the dampness of the breeze.”

Jaime agreed, and the pair made their way back into the caves.  They travelled upward until they came to one of the doors which led into the castle.  They found a servant along the way, and asked that he bring food to Tyrion’s rooms.  The food reached the rooms before they did.  Breads, meats, fruits, vegetables, and wine were laid out for their repast.  Tyrion merely picked at the food and drank water instead of the wine.

“Did you give up wine, brother,” Jaime questioned as he poured some for himself.

A strange, distant expression passed across Tyrion’s face, but was replaced by his smile just as quickly.  “Hung-over one too many times that the taste makes me feel a little ill.  For now I will drink water, until the memory of my last bad morning fades.”

He laughed at his younger brother’s humor.  They talked, laughed, and ate for some hours.  Eventually, Tyrion tired, and Jaime returned to his own chambers to rest.

Jaime awoke with a start in the middle of the night.  He could hear shouts in the distance and knew in the pit of his stomach what was wrong.  He swiftly pulled on trousers and a tunic, grabbed his sword, and headed into the hall.  There were servants and guards rushing through the halls, and he ran with them.  The instant he heard the words “the prince” he pushed his way through the ever growing throng of men and women who were heading toward the shouting at the end of the hall.

Cersei’s screams had mostly subsided by the time he reached her.  She was on Joffrey’s bed, clutching him close, but the boy was unmoving.  The maester and several servants were trying to pull her away but she shouted at them and swung wildly with her arms.

“Leave us,” he commanded.  It took several more commands from him until everyone left.  He barred the door and wrapped his arms around his twin.

“He’s dead,” she choked out.  “Our boy.”

He hushed her gently and she leaned back against him.  She finally released the body of their firstborn and sobbed against Jaime.  He held her close, whispering anything he could think of to soothe her.  “Tommen and Myrcella are still strong and healthy.  _We_ are still strong and healthy.”

She looked up at him, her green-eyes bloodshot and wild.  “He was our firstborn.”

He looked to the unmoving corpse of his firstborn child, and felt numb.  This was not the nothingness he had felt earlier or at the loss of his father.  This was the feeling he had when watching Rickard and Brandon Stark die.  This was the feeling he had upon learning that Princess Elia, Princess Rhaenys, and Prince Aegon had been murdered.  He wanted to comfort Cersei, but felt himself slipping into the shelter he had built inside his mind.

He kissed her gently, and held her to himself.  “He was our son.”

“I don’t want to go back to Robert,” she muttered into his chest.  “I hate him.  The coward left me and the children here as soon as the sickness struck.  He ran back to King's Landing without a second thought."

“Then we will stay here together.  Let Robert drown himself in wine.”  He held her close.  They were meant to be together.  They were meant to stay together at Casterly Rock.  “Leave him, and stay with me.  I will kill him if he tries to take you back.”

“We can’t...”

“Why not,” he growled.  “Look at our son.  When did Robert even show him the slightest amount of love?  He left when you and Joffrey needed him most.  Stay here beside me, and we can have more children.  A brood of lions to make the world tremble.  You know that Robert is powerless against the West, he is too indebted to our family to make a move against us here.”

She trembled in his embrace and he hoped, hoped that she would choose to remain with him as exiles in their home.  It was agonizing minutes before she unburied herself from his chest and met his eyes.  Resolve was firmly etched in her emerald eyes.  “Let them hear us roar,” she whispered, and kissed him.


	13. Brienne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have a lovely fan who asked "Where's Robert?" for last chapter. To which my response was "oops". I have since added in some dialogue between Jaime and Cersei explaining where Robert went. In canon, there was a joust on Joff's nameday and that is when the betting with the Valyrian dagger takes place. That was the setting for when people fell ill.
> 
> A note on royal courts in "medieval" times. It was normal for the royal court to visit the various provinces and lords/vassals. These tours would take some many months. It was also not unusual for the King to have a different lodging from his wife and children, or even for the children to have separate households altogether. (I may have read way, way too many things about the Tudors for that last bit of information, so it may just have been Henry VIII.) So that is something to keep in mind for this story regarding Cersei/Robert being in separate locations.
> 
> I also wanted to say that I have some of the best fans ever, much love :)

_"Hang him!"  The shouts rang out as they approached the camp.  Five men ran from the shadows and pulled him from his horse.  He fought back, but caught unawares and with only one hand, he could not fight off five men.  They wrapped a rope around his throat and dragged him to the tree.  He could not speak with how tightly the rope was wrapped around his throat._

_Lady Stoneheart appeared from the shadows, the hood of her cloak down and her eyes filled with hate.  Two men with their swords trained upon Podrick Payne arrived as well.  Jaime’s eyes shifted rapidly between the judging gaze of Lady Stoneheart and Brienne falling to the ground in tears._

_“I’m sorry Jaime,” she sobbed.  “They were going to hang Podrick.  And me, Jaime, I had to save Pod.  He’s just a boy.  I’m sorry.”_

_He stopped struggling and closed his eyes in resignation.  The men pulled the rope over a tree limb and hung him high.  Brienne forced herself to watch.  He had saved her life and she had condemned his.  She owed him the respect of watching his death.  When he stopped moving, Podrick was released into her custody._

Brienne awoke in tears for the thousandth time.  Her hair and night clothes were clinging to her body from sweat.  The weather at Storm's End was hot and humid, unbearably so.  Her nightmares and the weather caused her to be more irritable than she was accustomed to being.

Ever since she had awoken on Tarth, Brienne was plagued by her memories.  She was still overwhelmed with guilt from betraying Jaime to his death.  Podrick, whose life Jaime’s had paid for, had died as well, years later during the march northward with Queen Daenerys.  _“We must reach the boy who controls the crows and trees.  When we cast the curse, you will remember everything that has happened.”_ Brienne did not want to remember, but she did.  She remembered everything she had gone through, every life she had taken, and her own death.  She wished that she did not remember any of it.

She supposed that her reputation of being awkward worked to her advantage when she awoke on Tarth with memories of the future.  No one questioned why she seemed moody or disoriented, and for that she was ever grateful.  While she adjusted to her former life, she waited impatiently for any sign from the mainland that anyone else remembered.

Samwell Tarly’s letter arrived the same day that word of Tywin Lannister’s death reached Tarth.  She read Sam’s letter more than once, memorizing the list of names, her allies in the effort to change the future.  Lord Tywin’s death cemented her belief that at least Tyrion Lannister was hard at work.

She wrote to Garlan Tyrell immediately, glad that she would have at least one person to work with whose company she enjoyed.  She and Garlan had spent much time in one another’s company on their journey from King’s Landing to the winter wasteland of the far north.  A little two weeks after her letter was sent, she received his reply.  He sent word that he and his sister were traveling to Storm’s End, and that she should join them.

So she found herself at Storm’s End, in the presence of men who were ghosts to her.  Renly Baratheon, the first king to whom she had sworn herself, laughed and held court as Lord of Storm’s End.  Ser Loras Tyrell stood by Renly’s side as his squire.  Ser Hyle Hunt was there as well.  She tried her best to avoid him.  He had offered to wed her, but he had died with a noose around his throat the day she was hanged by Lady Stoneheart.  She did not feel much guilt about his death, but it was still another death she remembered vividly.

She tried her best to blend with the court, but blending when you stand taller than most everyone is difficult for anyone, especially a woman.  She sighed with relief when the Tyrell host arrived.  She decided to remain aloof until Garlan would approach her, Brienne of Tarth had never met Garlan of House Tyrell before that day.

The evening meal was lavish and the crowds were merry, but Brienne’s heart was too uneasy to enjoy the merriment.  Brienne drained her goblet of dry wine and walked out to one of the many balconies which overlooked the gardens of the castle.  She gazed blindly into the darkness that had fallen and despite the warmth of the night suppressed a shiver.

“We will survive this time Lady Brienne,” someone said softly, after she had been standing alone for many long minutes.  She knew the warm female voice seemed familiar, but the face was lost to memory.  Brienne turned to see Margaery Tyrell gazing kindly at her.

“You remember as well?”

Her lips quirked into a half-smile.  “My brother and I both remember, thanks to our Queen.”  Brienne gaped at the younger woman, but she just laughed.  “Don’t worry, we are safe here, besides which I never said her name.  Speaking of queens, have you heard word of the crown prince’s untimely death?”

Brienne nodded solemnly.  “The... the Queen must be mourning deeply.”

Margaery’s eyes twinkled with mischief, her pleasure at Joffrey Baratheon’s death obvious even through her polite demeanor.  “There are rumors that the Queen wishes to remain permanently at Casterly Rock.”

“That would certainly be an interesting turn of events.”

“Truly, I do believe that she wishes to remain close to her family after these terrible losses.  If this had happened the first time, I do believe that my brother and Renly’s plans would have come to fruition.”

“Plans?”  Brienne was unaware of any plan involving Renly, Margaery, and one of the Tyrell brothers in the first path of history other than the marriage between Margaery and Renly.

“They wished to marry me to the king.  Sadly, documents proposing a betrothal for me have already been sent elsewhere.”  She sighed wistfully and stared up at the stars.

“Who are you going to be betrothed to?”  The words “this time” were on the tip of Brienne’s tongue, but she did not let them slip.

“This time,” Margaery met her eyes with a wry grin.  “It would have been nice to marry for love once, just once.  Garlan and I were able to convince our family that a marriage between myself and Robb Stark would be the best move for our family.  He is, after all, the heir to the largest region of Westeros and an heir to the Riverlands.”

“Will the Stark’s accept?”  Lady Stoneheart’s face flitted through Brienne’s memory at the mention of the Starks.  Lady Stoneheart had died, but the impact she had on Brienne would last forever.

Margaery rolled her eyes.  “Of course they will.  The Stark’s remember the war, so said the lovely letter from Samwell Tarly to my brother Garlan.”

“I received that letter as well.  I only wrote to your brother.”

“We wrote to Princess Arianne, Lord Stannis, Samwell, and the Starks.  I do believe that the new Lord of Casterly Rock should be contacted soon as well.  Garlan acts as though everything will work so smoothly if we get everyone to cooperate.”

“What do you believe?”

“I believe that if I marry Robb Stark and am widowed that I may as well marry Balon Greyjoy, then I will have married all of the challengers in the War of Five Kings except for Lord Stannis.”  She laughed somewhat bitterly.  “Don’t be so surprised, I must find humor where I can.  In truth, I don’t know what to hope for.  Relations between Casterly Rock and King’s Landing are on edge, this time as much or more so than last time. A marriage between myself and the North will probably unite three kingdoms.  Dragonstone and Storm’s End are our allies, as is Dorne.”

“Will Lord Renly side with our cause?”

“Lord Renly will side with Highgarden in all matters.”

How could she be certain that Renly would side with Highgarden? “You seem very certain of that.”

The statement earned her another eye-roll and laugh.  “My brother Loras has Renly’s ear in all matters.”

Everything that Brienne knew about Lord Renly finally clicked into place in her mind.  She felt so blind, so very blind.  Thrice wed and yet still a maiden, was that not what had been said of Queen Margaery Tyrell, until she became the mistress of the Dragon King.  She was still a maiden after her marriage to King Renly because she had not suited his interests, but her brother Loras had been his type.  Lord Renly would always be loyal to Highgarden for the sake of Ser Loras.

She flushed red.  “I didn’t realize...”

Margaery moved her hand as though she were waving away the issue.  “Such things are best kept private, you understand.  Dearest Renly will be in less danger this time around.”

“Stannis...”

“Lord Stannis will work with us this time.  No matter what other faults he has, he fought hard to defend the Wall against the Others.  Whatever he may have done the first time around will be his burden to bear, not mine or yours.”  Perhaps King Renly’s murder was not Brienne’s to bear, but Ser Jaime’s murder was her fault and burden.  “With Lord Arryn remaining as Hand of the King, the Vale may send men and supplies to the Wall for support.  Lord Tyrion is on our side, but I do not know how well he will be able to control his brother and sister.”

“What if the king and queen make war against one another?”

Margaery grasped Brienne’s hands firmly.  “We can only do so much Lady Brienne.  War will come eventually.  One day our Queen will return to us, and while much of Westeros will support her, there will be war.  The most we can hope for is a quick and less bloody war.  For the time being, our families must focus on increasing our harvests and lending aid to the Wall.  We must have hope and faith that everything will work out for the best.”

The Maid of Tarth nodded solemnly and pulled away.  What if they had returned to the past for nothing?  What if the Others destroyed Westeros again?  She faced the darkness of the night and clenched her hands into tight fists.  “Where do you find hope or faith after all that we saw?”

“I had faith in the Queen’s success.  She brought all of us back, which surely means that there is a way to prevent our deaths.  We will and must win.  I have faith that we were returned to the past to accomplish so much more than we can even imagine.”  She laid a gentle hand on Brienne’s arm.  “I believe the gods are with our Queen and that she will prevail, that is my hope and where I place my faith.”

“Where will I find a place in this new world?  I never belonged the first time.”

“Why don’t you remain by my side?”

She turned, and their eyes met again.  A gentle fierceness shown in the Rose of Highgarden’s face.  “By your side?”  To remain by Margaery’s side would mean that she would face Lady Stark again.  That was a prospect which Brienne did not relish.

She nodded.  “I only ever met Lady Stark in passing, and know that you spent more time with her.  You know the northerners better than I do.  If that is where I am going then I want someone I trust by my side.”

“I don’t want to face Lady Catelyn again.”

Lady Margaery grimaced.  “There is no guarantee that she remembers the creature she became.  Even if she does remember, we all must cooperate if we want to survive through the winter.”

Brienne breathed deeply, trying to quell the anxiety in herself.  She could see the accusing, pained stare of Jaime as he died.  “I will be your shield, my lady.”

Several long weeks passed at Storm’s End.  Letters arrived and departed on a regular basis.  Lord Tyrion Lannister sent assurances that all was well in the Westerlands and that the illness which had claimed the lives of his father and nephew had run its course.  His sister, the Queen, planned to remain at the Rock with her children for a year so that they might recover from their losses in the privacy of Cersei’s childhood home.

Lord Stannis Baratheon, Master of Coin since Lord Baelish’s disappearance, sent word that King Robert seemed quite pleased at the separation from his wife and was now quite openly bringing women to court for his pleasure.  Lord Stannis also said that Ser Barristan Selmy and Lord Varys were quite helpful to him.

Lord Varys sent word that plans were in motion and that “she” was doing well at last report.  Samwell’s letter stated that work was progressing slower than he had hoped, but that there was still progress.  Princess Arianne said that there were complications which she had not anticipated, but that Dorne’s support was guaranteed.

Reports arrived from every region that planting and harvesting efforts were being increased.  Projects to build glass gardens were begun in many regions as well.

Last of all was a reply from House Stark, agreeing to the betrothal.  Both Houses were in agreement that a short betrothal would seem to be a good course of action.  Within the month, Margaery Tyrell and a host of Tyrell banners were on their way north.  In their company were men sworn to the defense and support of the Wall.  Three thousand men from the Reach, as part of Lady Margaery’s dowry.  Three thousand from the Stormlands, as a gift to House Tyrell.  They carried many supplies with them, supplies that would be used to defend the Wall.

Perhaps there were people who thought it strange for the Rose of Highgarden to journey northward with six thousand swords as a dowry, but those who remembered the future made promises to send swords soon.  Dorne promised a thousand men.  The Westerlands promised two thousand men.  Lord Stannis promised another thousand.  Men who would serve at the Wall, though not necessarily as part of the Night’s Watch.

The best report of all arrived when they were winding their way through the Riverlands.  Lord Stannis reported that caches of dragonglass were found at Dragonstone and were on their way north.

Brienne was uneasy the entire time they travelled through the Riverlands.  She noticed that Lady Margaery’s smiles were more forced than usual as they travelled.  Ser Garlan’s presence was the only thing that seemed to cheer Margaery.

“What’s wrong my lady,” she finally asked one night when they were in the Neck.

“Have you ever been in love,” she replied quietly, staring at the fire pit in her tent.

_Twice,_ she thought painfully.  She could remember each of their deaths vividly.  “I don’t know,” she replied instead.

She inclined her head in acknowledgement.  “I miss him.”

“Who?”

A tear fell from her eye, but she quickly wiped it away.  She forced herself to smile.  “Aegon.  I wanted to marry him.  I think that Dany would have let us; I was there first after all.  He did not marry me because he was waiting for her.  Theirs was a marriage of political convenience.  She held the title and dragons.  He held the throne.  When King’s Landing was falling I was no use.  I never learned how to hold a weapon, so escape for me was pointless.  I would have been another mouth to feed.  He chose to stay.  He said it was for the morale of the people, but they knew they were dead.  He stayed because I stayed.  We launched the wildfire and he wrapped his arms around me.”  She trembled and sobbed quietly, but she bit back her tears.  Brienne was at a loss for what to say or do.

“I’m sorry my lady.”

She shook her head.  “It’s quite all right Lady Brienne.  I know my duty and will do my duty.  I don’t even know where he is or if I will ever see him again.”

“I don’t think that we can ever stop loving a person if it is truly love,” Brienne offered.

Her lips pressed together in a half-smile.  Her tear-filled eyes turned up to meet Brienne’s.  “I thought that you did not know if you had loved or not?”

Brienne swallowed hard.  “I am unsure that I can admit what I felt or feel, even to myself.”  They stared long at one another, feeling the same sense of loss.

“Thank you for talking to me.  I think that I will retire for the evening.”

“Of course, good night my lady.”

“And you Brienne.”


	14. Sansa II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is reading for your wonderful feedback! I am working on the outline for this story, so it may be a bit before I update. However, once the outline is done, then there should be better pacing for the tale. It has been difficult to try balancing whose chapters I am doing next. I need to get back to Essos, King's Landing, Oldtown, and start a few other regions (like the Wall, Beyond the Wall, Dorne, Iron Islands). There has also been much Stark focus due to the amount of Starks, even though my intention is not to be Stark-centric.
> 
> Chronologically this chapter takes place in the middle of the previous chapter.

Pulling her needle through cloth was calming.  Winterfell was tense.  The servants and supplicants may not have seen the tension, but to Sansa it was palpable.  Mother was distant, only Rickon and father spent much time with her.  Robb spent most of his time training in the yard until he was exhausted.  Bran spent all of his free time at the heart tree, and seldom spoke.  Jon brooded, trained, and spoke at length with father.  Father seemed overwhelmed, which had only increased since Uncle Benjen’s arrival from the Wall a fortnight past. Arya's moods, while not typical for her young self, were at least familiar to Sansa.

Arya was guarded, a trait which she and Sansa shared.  When they had met again in the Vale, it had taken a while to grow accustomed to one another.  So many years had passed since they had last seen one another in King’s Landing.  They were no longer children, but young women, hardened by all that they had been forced to endure.  In living with one another, they had been forced to learn one another.  In the process, they realized how much more they had in common as adults than they ever had as children.  Sansa had been a leader and mother and Arya was a trained assassin, but they both understood duty.  In the face of a long winter and widespread famine, they learned to lean upon one another for advice.  Despite their mutual ability to hide their emotions, they learned to read one another perfectly.  Their bond carried through to their renewed childhood.  Together they sewed and trained with blades.

Sansa found that she enjoyed learning to use a sword.  Training was not easy, as her muscles had never been used for such activity before, but she was eager to learn and train through the pain.  Knowing how to handle the short blade which she had been given made her feel like she could truly gain some control over one aspect of her life.  Jeyne Poole was completely horrified that Sansa trained with swords daily, but Sansa paid her little mind.  Every time she struck a target she envisioned Joffrey, Cersei, and Lord Baelish.  She wanted them dead a thousand times over.   Word of Joffrey’s death had warmed Sansa’s heart.  She wished that she could feel safe, knowing that two enemies were dead, but she knew that she would only feel safe once the threat of the Others was ended.

She wished that she knew what Bran, father, Uncle Benjen, and Jon were planning to do about the Others, but they remained quiet on the subject.  Her fear that she was still controlled by the Others ebbed as the days passed.  She gradually felt warmer and more at home within the walls of Winterfell.  She was glad that Arya would not have to fulfill her promise to kill her.

When they trained, Arya would tell Sansa that her skill with swords was improving.  She would also tell Sansa that she was terrible at swordplay.  Robb and Jon would also laugh sometimes and other times encourage her.  Even father would give her tips on how to hold and wield a blade.  He agreed that she should learn to protect herself this time.  There were northern precedents for women learning to fight, chiefly the Mormonts and wildlings, but at least both Stark girls learning to fight would not seem strange given the precedents.

Sansa often wondered what her father felt.  He had spoken at length with each of them more than once about all that they had seen and experienced throughout the wars.  She could tell that he was bothered by all that he had been told.  He was horrified to learn that she had witnessed his execution.  She had assured him that she could not really remember the execution any more except in nightmares.  He was always quiet and reserved.  She wondered if he had always been so quiet toward herself and her brothers and sister.

She had only vague memories of her parents and brothers from her first childhood.  She remembered laughter, hugs, kisses, and bits of games they had played.  Other than Arya, Jon Snow was the only family member she had distinct memories of, and that was because as Prince of Dragonstone and Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch he was hard to ignore.  He flew from the Wall to King’s Landing regularly on his green dragon.  He would visit Sansa and Arya in the Vale and carry goods from the Vale to the Wall and King’s Landing.  Sansa wondered what Jon, mother, and Robb thought about Jon’s true parentage, but had never asked.  Given the brooding moods of her entire family, she felt that it would be better to avoid touchy subjects.

“Theon and Robb are talking again,” Jeyne whispered to her.

“So it would seem,” she replied.

Theon Greyjoy had hidden in his rooms for weeks.  He would attend his lessons and go riding, but otherwise would remain isolated.  It had taken father speaking at length with Robb and Theon together for them to speak again.  Father made a point of making each of them spend time with himself and Theon.  Sansa’s interaction with Theon was polite.  She had not thought much upon him or the crimes he had committed, and forgave him readily.  She was far more concerned about the Others than she was about a repentant and reformed Theon.

“Why weren’t they speaking?”

Sansa tugged her needle through the cloth as though it were the most interesting thing in the world.  “Probably something unimportant.”

“But everyone has been strange lately, even you.”

“Is it truly so strange for me to learn how to use a sword?  The women of House Mormont are all trained as warriors.  I only wish to learn how to defend myself if I must.”  The argument was an old one, but Jeyne still seemed to dislike her friend enjoying such a dirty task.

Her nose scrunched in displeasure.  “It isn’t just the swordplay.  You don’t seem like you anymore, not really.  It’s as though one day you went to bed as yourself and the next woke up a different person but with the same face.”

Arya laughed.  “You have such strange ideas.  You’re just jealous that she spends more time with me than with you now.”

“I am not,” Jeyne insisted irritably.

“Girls,” Septa Mordane interrupted.  “Why do I hear bickering?”

“A minor disagreement over our interests in boys,” Sansa smoothed with a guilty smile.  The Septa raised a suspicious eyebrow, but returned to her corner away from the girls.

“We have men to protect us,” Jeyne muttered quietly before she returned to her stitching.

_‘Oh Jeyne, sweetling, if you only knew’,_ Sansa thought.  She knew what Jeyne’s fate had been.  From her training as a bed slave in Lord Baelish’s brothels to her marriage to Ramsay Snow to her eventual suicide.  Men had not protected Jeyne, they had destroyed her.

Instead of speaking, Sansa returned to her needlework.  She hummed to herself.  It was a Vale lullaby.  Harrold had sung it for her, their sons, and his bastard daughters.  It had been the only way her son Eddard would sleep.

The more time that passed, the easier it was for her to push away her feelings for Harrold and their children.  She was just a girl again.  Harrold was a stranger in the Vale.  Their children’s souls rested with the gods.  Then there were the days when she would look at Rickon and see her son Robert.  Her heart would break all over again and she would spend the rest of the day building another wall around her heart.

She glanced to either side and saw her friend and sister pulling their needles deftly through the fabric before them.  Arya’s needlework was flawless.  If asked, Arya would deny any pleasure at the praises which were heaped upon her by Septa Mordane.  Sansa knew her piety was a lie.  Even under the masks, Arya relished the attention.  Far from being the impatient, awkward, feisty child she had been, Arya was all grace, courtesy, and patience.  At times, Sansa missed the real Arya.  The girl whose needlework was nothing but knots was buried under years of training as a Faceless Man.

A maid entered the room, carrying a letter in her hand.  “Lady Sansa, a letter for you,” she announced politely.

Sansa set aside her needlework and accepted the letter.  “Thank you Rose,” she replied with a smile.

She looked at the seal for a few long minutes.  Hard, red wax pressed with a lion’s head sealed the letter.  She felt a familiar, very old fear rise within her, but she shook it away.  She knew the sender of the letter before she even broke the seal.

_Tyrion of House Lannister_

_Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West_

_To Lady Sansa of House Stark_

_I have been made aware that you, and most all your family, remember the same events which I recall.  I have written to some other members of your family, but felt that I should write to you, given our history.  I trust that you were pleased by the gifts which I have given your family and the realm.  They are gifts you should have been given long ago, but I was too much a coward to help you._

_I have been told that I should find a wife, given my new position.  While you are the eldest daughter of a High Lord, I do believe that you are far too young for me to consider.  I do believe that is something you would want to know.  I wish you all happiness, my lady.  I will remain, as ever, your faithful friend._

Sansa folded the letter closed and wiped at the tears which fell from her eyes.  “I pray that you would all excuse me,” she announced as she stood.  Her endearingly over protective sister made to stand as well, but at a move of Sansa’s hand, Arya remained seated.  For the moment, Sansa just wanted to be alone.

She slipped the letter into a pocket of her dress as she walked from the room.  Lady trailed behind her, ever a faithful companion.  Tyrion’s gift, she knew, was the death of Tywin and Joffrey.  Truly their deaths were gifts to the realm, in hope of peace.  The second part of his letter bothered her.  She knew that his intention and message were kind.  He had also awoken old memories of their short, unhappy marriage and King’s Landing in general.

She was walking through a breezeway which overlooked the training yards, still lost in her memories, when Robb found her.  Grey Wind left Robb’s side and greeted his littermate with a welcoming sniff.

“Sansa,” he greeted.  “May we speak?”

She favored him with a kind smile.  “Of course, what do you wish to speak about?”

He averted his eyes and shifted in place. “It seems that I am to be betrothed.”

“It is official now?” Sansa had known about the discussions regarding a betrothal for Robb, but nothing had been decided last she knew.

“The letters were sent a short while ago.  It seems that Margaery Tyrell will become my wife and your good-sister.”

Sansa wanted to laugh.  She remembered a very similar conversation, a lifetime past.

_“We will be sisters,” Margaery had whispered.  Sansa had been delighted at the thoughts of Highgarden and Willas Tyrell.  Moreover, Sansa had been thrilled that Highgarden would not be King’s Landing._

“Congratulations, she is quite lovely.”  ‘ _And now she will truly be my good-sister; how strange this world has become.’_

He gave her a weak smile.  “That is part of what I wanted to speak with you about.  You met her; you spoke with her.  What is she like?”

_‘A rose with thorns.  Sweet and kind and gentle, with a mind that knows how the game is played.  She will wrap you around her finger as she did King Aegon.  Dear brother, she married three kings and bedded a fourth; she is no innocent maiden.’_ Sansa could not bring herself to say any of those things.  She remembered to herself that if Robb had ransomed her then she would never have met Margaery Tyrell.  She would never have endured the horrors of King’s Landing.  She would never have been taken and used as a pawn by Lord Baelish.

“An answer for an answer,” she posed the question.

His brow raised in confusion.  “Of course, what do you want to know?”

“Why was I not ransomed from King’s Landing?”

He closed his eyes, but not before she saw pain fill them.  “I should have,” he answered eventually.

She kept her face placid, but felt a familiar ache in her heart.  She stroked Lady’s head to calm herself.  “That is not an answer.”  The words were whispered, as she could barely speak.

“What more do you want,” he pleaded.  “I should have traded you and Jaime Lannister.  I should have kept Theon by my side.  I should have married the Frey girl!  I can’t change what I did!”  Grey Wind licked his hand in an effort to calm him.  He rubbed at his eyes to stop the tears that threatened.

She wanted to comfort her brother.  She wanted to say everything was fine.  She wanted to forgive his decisions, but could not find it within herself to forgive.  How could she forgive him after the way Joffrey abused her?  After the way the Lannisters married her off to Tyrion?  After the way Lord Baelish would lie to her, touch her, and manipulate her? Robb was supposed to have kept her safe, but he never even tried.  “I waited for you to save me.  They beat me and humiliated me every time you won a battle.  I prayed and I prayed for you to save me.  No one saved me.  Not you and not the Tyrell’s.  Margaery is kind and sweet, but don’t for a second think that she isn’t as cunning as a viper.”

She pushed past him and walked swiftly to the godswood.  How many hours had she spent in the godswood in the Red Keep?  How many days had she prayed for safety and protection?  She had never been safe in the south, even in the arms of her second husband.

Her side ached by the time she reached the heart tree.  She sank to her knees and wept.  Lady lay beside her, nuzzling her side.  “I can’t do this,” she cried.  “I don’t know how.”  She touched the tree and found herself close and yet very far away.

A girl who looked remarkably like Arya was hitting a tree with a stick, so hard that it was breaking with every stroke.  Nearby stood a young man whose face was obscured.  “I can’t do it Ned!  I won’t!”

“Lya, stop, please.  He is not so bad as you seem to think.”

“Then you marry him!”

Ned grabbed his sister’s arm so that she would stop swinging, and then held her close as she cried.  They faded and the years passed.  Sansa saw her father kneeling before the tree, younger than she had ever seen him in life.

“This was my father’s place,” he said.  “I sit where my brother was meant to sit.  I wed the woman my brother was meant to marry.  I do not know how to lead the North.  I do not know how to keep Jon safe.  I ask that you will show me the best way forward.”

Lord Eddard Stark faded and was replaced by a heavily pregnant Catelyn Stark.  She paced anxiously before the tree.

“I do not know how to pray here.  At home... Where I used to live and call home, Riverrun, there is a sept.  The whole building is full of light.  Ned is building a sept here, for me, but I need the gods now.  My mother died in child birth.  With my son I could pray in the sept where I grew up.  I don’t have that now.”

She stopped pacing and knelt, with much difficulty, in front of the tree.  “I am afraid.  I am afraid that I will never see Robb grow up.  Afraid that Jon will try to take away my son’s place.  Afraid that I am not good enough.  Afraid that this child will die or that I will die as my mother did.”

She stroked her belly with one hand and wiped at her eyes with the other.  “I may not belong here in the North, praying to the old gods of my husband, but this child belongs to the North.  So please, keep this child safe.”

Everything faded again, and Sansa saw Robb kneeling in a different godswood.  He wore an iron crown upon his head and was dressed for battle.

“I do not think that I was made to be a king.  I win every battle, but every decision I make not on the battlefield...  I came south to rescue my father and sisters.  I lost everything.  My father, my brothers, my sisters.  They took Sansa from us; married her to the enemy.  Only you know where Arya is, or if she is alive.  I do not know if I will be victorious.  If nothing else, please keep Sansa and Jon safe.”

Robb faded and five figures emerged from the shadow.  They were underground, seated in a circle which was ringed with torches.  On the ground in the center of their circle was a silver basin.

“I do not know if this will work,” said a man with dark hair and a round face.

“It has to work,” Daenerys replied, her voice allowing for no argument.

A moment later a horrific cracking sound echoed through the cavern.  Two dozen or more small, strange looking people rushed past them, shouting that the barrier was breached.

The red-haired woman stood and made to follow the strange beings.  “It seems that our choices have been made.  The curse must work, or all hope will be lost.”

Tyrion stood as well.  “Your grace, it has been an honor to serve you.  Bran, I am glad that you were able to lead us here.”

A few moments later, Daenerys, Bran, and the other man were alone in front of the silver basin.  “It is time,” Bran announced solemnly.  He proceeded to take a knife and cut open his hand.  He held his hand above the basin, and passed the blade to Daenerys.  After she performed the same task, the knife was set aside.  Together, the two began to chant words which the third man read from a parchment.  The blood in the basin seemed to glow.  Bran and Daenerys clasped one another’s hands across the basin and began to chant names.  The blood changed color from red to white.  The light grew stronger, connecting Bran, Daenerys, and the silver bowl.  They chanted on, releasing their wounded hands, but keeping their undamaged hands clasped.  Their bleeding, glowing hands touched their chests.  They pulled their hands outward from their bodies, and collapsed to the ground.  The light remained, now joined by two other lights.  Above Bran’s body was pulsed a golden light.  Above Daenerys’s body shown a dark red light.  The three lights merged into one and the world went dark.

When Sansa opened her eyes again she was seated by the weirwood tree again.  She noticed Bran standing near her, watching her; Summer was seated beside him.  “Did you do that,” she questioned.

He nodded his head solemnly.  “The trees see everything that has happened and remember.  If a person knows how, the trees can be used to see the future as well.  Even if that future will not happen.  You needed to see that you are not alone.  I wanted you to see what has been done for you.”

She reached out her arms and he went to her and hugged her.  “Thank you, I needed to see all of them.  I need to apologize to Robb.  I... I’m still afraid.  I don’t want to lose everyone again.  I don’t want to face the Others again.”

“You won’t have to,” he whispered.  “But I will.”

She pulled back from him and met his distant gaze.  “Are you afraid?”

“Always.”


	15. Daenerys II

Daenerys had made one last request of Magister Illyrio before she returned to her rooms.  He complied readily, and she was given five Unsullied as personal guards.  Their duty was simple, keep Viserys away from her.  They watched him closely when he gave her the fine violet gown that she was to wear to meet Khal Drogo.  She could see the seething anger in his eyes, but when he moved to strike her and the guards advanced he readily stepped away.

Her guards stood nearby while she was bathed and dressed to meet Khal Drogo.  She shone in gold and amethysts.  Her hair was beautifully plaited down her back, and a golden tiara crowned her head.  She felt more a queen in that moment than she had in many long years.

She and Viserys boarded Illyrio’s palanquin in the evening, bound for Khal Drogo’s manse.  She lost herself in her thoughts as her brother and their host spoke of the Seven Kingdoms and the Usurper.  She pondered over the Magister’s words.  She wondered what his plans had been from the start.  Had he changed his plans or was Aegon always a goal?  Surely he had never intended for Viserys to become a king, not when he was grooming Aegon from his infancy for the task.  Or did he intend to let Viserys go to war and die in the process, leaving room for Aegon to conquer in his wake?

Her thoughts wandered to Aegon, her handsome and gentle third husband.  Theirs was a pragmatic relationship, but she had no complaints about him.  Of her three husband and few lovers, Aegon she remembered the most fondly.  Drogo had not been her choice.  She had hated him.  She had wanted to die.  In the end, she had grown to love him.  Hidzar had been her first pragmatic marriage, but that had ended with his fiery death.  Aegon, on the other hand, was a different story altogether.

He had welcomed her to King’s Landing with open arms.  When he explained to her how bleak the situation of the Seven Kingdoms was, she understood his desire for peace.  Their people were starving, and the winter was proving to be long and hard.  The people were diseased and weary of war.  After the devastation of Mereen and Astapor, so was Daenerys.  He had been waiting for her arrival so that they might wed and rule together.  She doubted his sincerity when she was introduced to his visibly pregnant mistress.  Aegon reasoned with her that if he had wanted to hide Lady Tyrell from her or betray her, he could have done so easily and without pageantry.  The Tyrells were necessary allies, ones to whom all of the south owed thanks for the food they supplied.

So, in the name of peace, Daenerys and Aegon wed in the Sept of Baelor.  Their ceremony was simple, with very few guests.  Bride and groom dressed in red and black, the colors of House Targaryen.  Not having been raised with a septon or septa, she did not know the vows of the Faith until a few days before they wed.  Their ceremony was quick and their celebratory meal was simple.  When their feasting was over, they walked together arm in arm to his bed chamber.  Along the way, he told her that traditional Westerosi weddings involved beddings.  When he explained what a bedding was, she laughed and explained to him that Dothraki saw no shame in sex at all.  She told him about Khal Drogo and how they would make love before the whole khalasar.  She noticed the coloring of his cheeks when she spoke and knew that he was more innocent in the ways of the world than she.

In reply, he spoke to her about the times he had seen the Dothraki near his home on the Rhoyne.  They reached his rooms and continued speaking about everything from their lives in Essos to their opinions of cyvaase and Tyrion Lannister.  They spoke for hours, undressing and retiring to bed simply because they were tired from the day.  They did eventually consummate their marriage that night, though not because duty demanded it.

In the morning he told her about a man named Jon Snow.  A man who claimed to be the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, or Aegon had been told.  The Wall was so far away and the south so ravaged by war and winter that the affairs of the North had yet to concern the crown.  She left that day on her dragon to seek out the truth.

Daenerys was jolted from her reverie when they stopped rather abruptly before the gates of the nine-towered manse the magisters of Pentos had given to Khal Drogo.  The Unsullied man who stopped their palanquin spoke with Magister Illyrio in Dothraki.  Dany’s heart ached at the sight of the Unsullied man, remembering her army of Unsullied who had fought and died for her.  A few moments later they continued past the gates of the manse until they stopped before the entrance.

Servants helped Daenerys and Viserys from the palanquin, and Magister Illyrio followed afterward.  They were escorted inside where their arrival was announced for all to hear.  Dany let her eyes travel around the entry hall.  She observed the floor mosaic of the Doom of Valyria, the frescos on the walls and ceiling depicting the glory that had been Valyria.  She wondered how beautiful mosaics and frescos of the world covered in snow and ice would have been.  The Others, while terrifying, had been beautiful to behold.

They were escorted into an ivy covered courtyard filled with men from the Free Cities and the Dothraki Sea.  Dany clutched her hands together behind her back, and tried with all her might to calm her breathing.  She knew that there was a decent possibility that she could fail now, at the very beginning of her journey.  She paid more attention to the men milling about than to the words which the magister and her brother were saying.  She saw Ser Jorah Mormont standing alone by a pillar, surveying the room.  She saw Khal Drogo’s bloodriders.  Last of all, she saw the Khal himself.

Viserys grabbed her arm firmly as the magister walked away to greet Khal Drogo.  His grip was painful but she did not flinch.  She was the last dragon, she did not fear her brother.  He spoke of Khal Drogo’s braid, of how the Khal had never lost a battle.  “You will be his queen,” he muttered softly.  “You will obey him and he will give us an army to return us home.  I do not know what has gotten into you today, but you will please the Khal.  You do not want to wake the dragon do you?”

_Oh but I do want to wake the dragon, more than you could possibly imagine._ She smiled inside, though she kept her face quite placid.  “I will do as you say,” she replied meekly.

“Good,” he smiled through gritted teeth.  “Now stand straight and smile, the Khal is approaching.”

She paid attention for the first time to her first husband.  The thick long braid which hung down his back jingled as he walked from all the bells which hung upon it.  She felt her body warm as her eyes followed the curves of his muscles and the grace with which he moved.  Her eyes flickered momentarily to the magister, whose concern shone in his eyes even though he smiled.  Her proclamations in the morning had clearly shaken him.

From another angle, she saw Ser Jorah watching them, though he had yet to move from his post.  If all had gone according to her plans, he remembered everything that he had gone through with her.  He had lived almost to the bitter end, fighting by her side.

Her gaze returned to the Khal and met his eyes.  Onyx eyes met violet, and a shiver went down her spine when she saw recognition in his face.

“Moon of my life,” he asked in Dothraki.

“My sun and stars,” she whispered in reply.  Her use of the Dothraki language caused Viserys to pull away from her and study her face in shock.  Of all the people in the world, she had not planned for her Khal to remember.  Drogo reached for her, taking her face gently in his hands.  “You remember me,” she asked.

“I fell from my horse, weak.  When I woke I was here.  They told me that I was to meet with you today.”

She touched his face tenderly, oblivious to the stares from the men in the room and the shock of her brother.  “The gods have returned us from the night lands so that we may fight their battles again.  What has gone before us must change.”  He understood her words, though his face was a display of confusion.  She met his hands with her own and squeezed firmly.  “Walk with me,” she suggested with a smile.

He took her hand and walked with her away from the crowds.  She could feel the eyes of all the men upon her, but she did not care.  Her heart and mind were filled with a strange mixture of emotions.  Love and lust, pain and joy, hope and fear, all filled her mind.  Her only peace was the warm, strong presence of her khal.  Her greatest fear was the warm, strong presence of her khal.

“What happened, moon of my life?”

He knelt before her, cupping her face in his hands.  She longed to kiss him, to hold him.  She needed to clear her mind away from him to think straight, though that was not an option.  “You died.”

She needed a way to explain everything to him.  A way for him to know everything.  She remembered Brandon Stark, the young man who had reached out to her mind and bound his soul to hers with a curse.  He would know how to touch the mind of another person, to help him or her see what had been.  However, she was not Bran, nor did she have the same magics with which he had been gifted.

“Blood magic preserved your life for a short time, at the cost of our son’s life.  I lit your pyre with my dragon’s eggs beside you.  I sacrificed the witch in your pyre.”  She paused, seeing the displeasure in his face, the confusion.  She knew that the Dothraki disliked blood magic.  She could only imagine how disconcerting the whole experience was for him.  “I stepped into the fires and emerged unburnt with three newborn dragons.”

“What you say is impossible.”

“As impossible as this day being repeated?  Do you remember being introduced to me by the magister?  Do you remember me wearing this very dress in this very place and not speaking a word of Dothraki?  _This_ is impossible, but for the gods there is nothing impossible.”

He considered her words, his brown knitting together.  His hands had slid from her face and were entwined with her hands.  “If this is the work of the gods, why do only you and I remember?”

_‘Because it was me, not the gods.  Because I used blood magic to change time.  Because your soul is bound to mine like all the others who were dragged backward in time.’_ “I used blood magic,” she replied.  He stood, pulling away from her.  “I used blood magic to change time.”

He swore and muttered quietly to himself.  Were he a different man, she would have expected shouting and ranting, but Drogo was not a man for such displays of emotion.  “Why would you defy the gods,” he asked finally, not willing to face her.

“To save the world,” she replied, her hands ghosting across his back.  “I defied the gods to save the world.”  She could feel tension leave his muscles with the touch of her hands.  “My sun and stars...”

He turned to her.  “I do not understand these things, moon of my life.”

She laughed, a short a bitter sound.  “I only know what has been and what must be.  I do not understand why.”  She reached for his face, caressing him.  “I cannot marry you again.”  He opened his mouth to speak, but she pressed on.  A lifetime gone, and her heart ached to ride the Dothraki Sea with her khal.  “I returned for a reason.  I must fight a war.  You... I want you to lead the largest khalasar the world has ever seen.  I can only bring you death.  I can bear you no children.”

“Our son?”

She shook her head.  “Died before he drew breath.  I married twice after you and had lovers.  I never carried another child.  I will never bear a living child.”

He stroked her cheek gently, refusing to allow tears to fall from her eyes.  “Moon of my life...”  He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.  She shivered against him and kissed him feverishly, tears falling down her cheeks from the surge of emotions running through her body.

“Will you fight your wars alone,” he asked when he pulled away from her.

“I...”  What did she have?  Hopes, memories, and allies who were mostly in Westeros.  Aegon, whenever he arrived.  Dragons, if they hatched again.  A brother, who was far more trouble than he was worth.  A nephew, also in Westeros.  “Will you fight for me,” she asked.

“I swore to win you your father’s throne.”

Her heart soared at his words, at his touch.  “I will leave soon, for Asshai.  The journey will be long, but I will return and I will reclaim the Sunset Kingdoms.  I want you to ride beside me, my sun and stars, when I return to my kingdom.”  She did not know if their emotions were controlling the situation or their minds, but she cared less when he held her close.

He kissed her again, his hands pulling at her clothes.  That was how they were discovered by the Illyrio, Viserys, and Jorah.  Viserys was angry, but when was he not angry?  Ser Jorah was simply aghast.  The magister, while solemn faced, seemed amused.

Dany pulled away from Drogo, a smile on her face.  “Magister,” she said in the Common Tongue.  “I believe that I will remain here, with Khal Drogo, until our mutual acquaintance arrives.”  From the reactions she was getting from Drogo, her presence was no issue.  She trusted him more than her brother or Illyrio Mopatis.  “Ser Jorah, you may remain with us.”

Her big, strong, faithful bear bowed his head.  “Of course, you grace.”

Her brother’s face turned an extraordinary color, nearly matching his eyes.  “Dany, what are you doing?”  He was very nearly choking with rage, but he dared not raise a hand.

“Why does the beggar king rage? Should I crown him again,” Drogo muttered behind her in Dothraki.

She did not know whether to laugh or to cry.  She had no joy in remembering her brother’s death, yet she was amused by the humor in Drogo’s voice.  “No, my sun and stars, my brother must live.  I told them that I wish to stay with you until I leave for Asshai.”  She noticed the surprise in Jorah’s face when she mentioned Asshai, she would need to speak with him of her plans.

“Stay by my side forever, moon of my life,” he replied as he placed a hand upon her hip.

She wished that she could stay by him forever.  She looked directly at her brother, calm against his rage.  “I am choosing my own fate.”  She turned from him to Illyrio.  “I am not a patient woman.  I know where he is and how long the journey should take.”

“He will be here as soon as he can be, your grace.  A messenger left this morning after you spoke with me.”  She saw a glint of anger in his eyes, but she believed him.  He was unnerved by her knowledge and strength, especially now that the khal was on her side.

It was not much later that Viserys and Illyrio left the manse.  She remained beside Khal Drogo that night and the nights that followed in the manse in Pentos.  She spoke with her khal and Ser Jorah at length about the past and the future.  The discussions were seldom easy.  Dany had learned, very long ago, that nothing in life was easy.  Once, in another life, she had believed that if she looked back that she was lost.  Now, living in the past, she had to look back to see the way forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was rough, seriously rough to write. Dothraki and Wildlings and Stannis are hard for me to write.
> 
> I created a companion story to this called Reflections in the Ice, and that will tell bits of the time between 300-311 AC, post A Dance with Dragons, that are too long to show as flashbacks in this story.
> 
> The outline is shaping up well for this story also.


	16. Aegon

_"If you are wise, you will spare me," she said loudly and clearly as she knelt before the Iron Throne.  Beside her knelt the King, the boy named Tommen Baratheon. She did not plead for her king and husband, but held his small hand in hers._

_"Do you yield the throne," Aegon tried to sound commanding, but he had not anticipated holding a sword to a child._

_She coaxed him to stand with gentle nudges of her hand.  Standing, the boy was scarcely taller than his kneeling wife.  He spoke with a shaky but firm voice.  He held firmly to her hand. "I yield the throne and Westeros to you.  I ask that you spare..."  His voice cracked.  His queen stood and whispered something to him.  He nodded and continued.  "Spare my people.  Have mercy on my lady wife, my mother, and sister.  If you will spare my life, I will be your loyal servant, in whatever capacity you wish."_

_Aegon was speechless.  He was victorious, and now he had_ _to be a ruler.  The boy tried holding his gaze, but failed.  The queen looked at him, her gaze steady and unafraid.  "Men, escort them to their rooms and keep them under guard.  I must speak with them, but the hour is late and there is much to decide."_

_Half of his guard escorted the former king and queen from the throne room, the rest remained to guard him.  He stood before the monstrosity that was the Iron Throne and he felt empty.  He had reclaimed his birthright, but at what price?  Jon Connington, though he was in the Red Keep, had contracted greyscale.  Duck and Haldon had both died during the siege of the capital.  Septa Lemore was at Griffin’s Roost.  What use was a reclaiming his father's kingdom if he was alone?_

_When he was assured that rooms were prepared and secured, he went to them to rest for the evening.  How safe was he, truly?  His army was sell swords and Dornishmen.  His councilors thus far were a strange group. Nymeria and Tyene Sand, bastard half-sisters, nieces of Prince Doran of Dorne. Varys, a friend of Magister Illyrio and an architect of his ascension to the throne.  He had no established Kingsguard and no other councilors.  His sell swords would only be so much help._

_He went to the balcony of his room and stared at the dark streets of King's Landing.  The cold air nipped at his face, and he pulled his cloak close.  He could see flickers of torchlight in the distance, but there were no sounds to be heard.  He wondered who had lived in the room before him.  Was he responsible for the person's death?  What about his own family?  Had his father spent time in that very room?_

_He needed to decide the fates of King Tommen, Queen Margaery, and Dowager Queen Cersei in the morning.  Princess Myrcella, Tommen's sister, was in Dorne, betrothed to Prince Trystane of Dorne.  Her fate had to be decided as well.  On the morrow he would have a long day of judgments and oaths of fealty.  He had been prepared for this moment his entire life, but did not feel ready._

_He drifted asleep in a chaise by the windows.  In the dark of night he was awakened by someone rapping on the door.  His dagger in hand, he walked to and opened the door.  His guards were standing aside for the Lady Margaery.  He swallowed hard at the sight of her in naught but a low-cut red robe._

_"May we speak, your grace?"  Her voice had a warm, melodic quality.  Her honey eyes were made to trap a man._

_"Of course," he replied.  He sheathed his dagger and shut the door behind them.  She walked to the hearth where she laid another log on the fire, and then seated herself near the fire. She then proceeded to pour each of them wine from a decanter on the table._

_"Have you ever seen winter before," she asked cordially as he joined her by the fire._

_"No, it was always warm in Essos."_

_"Do you miss it?"_

_He wondered where her questions were going, but saw no harm in them.  "Yes, I grew up beside the Rhoyne.  I miss the river and the people I lived with."_

_She favored him with a compassionate smile.  "I miss Highgarden.  I miss the gardens and fountains.  I miss my family.  If you spare me, Highgarden will lend you aid.  Food, supplies, and soldiers will be yours."_

_"Do speak for your husband or yourself?"_

_"I am the blood of House Tyrell.  I have married House Baratheon thrice,” she paused, allowing the final syllables to linger on her tongue.  Her eyes flickered across his face and then down to her hands.  “But have never been bedded."_

_"Never?" Were he drinking wine, he would have choked.  Her lack of subtlety while being completely demure was not something to which he was accustomed._

_"My little lion is too young.  Truly I love Tommen, though as I would love any child.  Joffrey was poisoned at our wedding feast.  Dear Renly was fonder of my brother than he was of myself."_

_He raised a brow to her and sipped the sweet wine.  "What should be done with your husband?"_

_"Give him Casterly Rock, it is the inheritance of his mother.  The Westerlands are filled with Lannisters.  You will find it difficult to place anyone else as their overlord. His sister is betrothed to the Prince of Dorne, give Storm's End to them."_

_"Should I trust them and surround myself with enemies?"_

_She sipped her wine and smiled.  "Will you make friends by killing the heirs to three kingdoms?"_

_He drained his glass.  "What do you want out of these recommendations?"_

_Her robe slipped and revealed much of her leg before she covered herself.  "Annul my marriage and I am yours."_

_Her eyes were full of trouble.  He poured himself another glass and sipped it in silence.  A queen from one of the Great Houses would work in his favor.  He was waiting for Daenerys, but had no idea when or if she would appear.  Dorne was his, so he trusted giving Storm's End to Trystane Martell and Myrcella Baratheon.  He could name Tommen as Lord of Casterly Rock but retain him at court.  He could keep Cersei Lannister as a political prisoner as well._

_"I am waiting for Daenerys Targaryen to return from Essos and become my Queen."_

_"And when will that be, your grace?"_

_She was clever, too clever.  "Whenever she wishes."_

_"Then reign with her when she arrives.  I have been a queen thrice.  I told you that I am yours if you agree to my suggestions."  Her voice was low and sultry.  Her eyes were sinful and dangerous.  "Completely yours."_

_She slid from the chair and knelt before him.  She was close, but did not touch him.  He wanted what she was offering.  He wanted a woman to call his own.  Daenerys Targaryen was no more than a name. Margaery Tyrell was on her knees before him, offering herself freely.  He laid a gentle hand on her cheek and stroked her face.  She sighed and closed her eyes, lips parting slightly._

_His brain may have stopped functioning by the time he agreed to her requests.  He was no longer thinking with his brain when he kissed her and she found her way onto his lap._

* * *

Aegon could hardly contain his excitement when the summons arrived from Magister Illyrio.  Samwell Tarly's gift to Queen Daenerys worked.  He had never had the heart to tell his Lady Margaery about the curse.  He had not wanted her to hope in vain.  Aegon knew that he could not explain to Duck or Griff why he was so excited to head to Pentos.  Nor could he able to tell them why he had been acting strangely as of late.

Waking up aboard the Shy Maid when his last memories were of being melted by wildfire was disconcerting, to say the least.  It had taken several days of confusion on his part before he remembered the curse Daenerys had been planning to use.  The next thing he remembered was Tyrion Lannister’s warning about trusting no one.  The infernal dwarf had been right about many things, and trusting no one was at the top of that list.  He wondered how many of his shipmates, the only family he had known, were lying to him?

He had believed that he was the son of Rhaegar Targaryen until the day Daenerys forced Varys to confess the truth.  How Dany had managed to find the time to interrogate Varys about anything during the famines, Aegon never determined.  He had seen fire in her amethyst eyes that day.  Aegon had listened intently to the tale Varys told him.  Though the eunuch had needed to be coaxed occasionally by the Queen, he had told Aegon the truth.  Aegon Targaryen, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, had died in King’s Landing as an infant.

When Aegon had recovered from the shock, he gathered the courage to ask about his birth.  He was told that he was one of the last heirs to House Blackfyre.  His mother had died birthing him.  He was given to his mother’s family to be raised.  Her closest living relative was Magister Illyrio.  Only a year apart in age from the real Prince Aegon, Robert’s Rebellion and the murder of the Prince provided a way for House Blackfyre to finally rise to power.  The Golden Company and Jon Connington were secured, and Aegon Targaryen had been reborn.

Daenerys had pitied him upon realizing that he had been ignorant of the truth.  Were it not for her pity, she may have given him to Drogon for a meal.  Daenerys was a good, brave woman, but her temperament was draconic.  Three people were able to soothe her tempers: Tyrion Lannister, their Hand, Ser Barristan Selmy, their Commander of the Kingsguard, and Margaery Tyrell, his official mistress.  His own ability to calm Dany varied depending upon the day.  It seemed that he had the ability to make her laugh one moment and infuriate her the next moment.  Their relationship was unique.  They were married, friends, lovers, and allies, but he had never fallen in love with her.  He was fairly certain that she had never been in love with him either.

He missed Daenerys, but more than her, he missed his lady Margaery.  He missed her laugh, her smile, her gentleness.  She was the queen of his heart, and he was certain that in all the world there was no woman whom he could love more.  She had an incredible ability to endear herself to everyone, even to Daenerys.

The journey from Ghoyan Drohe to Pentos was a two week long ride.  Aegon wanted to ride faster, but he needed to remain with his escort.  His small company of travelers consisted of himself, Jon Connington, Haldon Halfmaester, Septa Lemore, and Ser Rolly Duckfield, along with an escort from Magister Illyrio.  No matter how much haste he urged, their pace remained steady.

The slowness of their pace was frustrating.  He had to spend the entire time acting like he was still Young Griff and not Aegon Blackfyre.  Two weeks of being the friend to people who had died long ago, from his perspective.  He wanted to reach Pentos.  He wanted to speak with Daenerys again.  He wanted to know her plans.  A part of him hoped that they could depart for Westeros when he arrived, though he knew that particular idea was just a wish in the wind.  He had to suppress a cheer when the walls of Pentos rose in the distance.  Pentos meant Dany, and Dany meant that he would soon learn what she knew.

They entered through the gates of Pentos when the sun was high in the sky.  Their movements were slowed by the myriad of people filling the streets.  There were merchants and beggars, magisters and guards all swelling the roadways with bodies, carts, and animals.  Two of the riders from the magister rode ahead to the manse so that their approach would be known.  Surely enough, when they arrived at the manse, the gates opened readily for Aegon and his companions.

After passing through the gateway, they found themselves on a broad pathway in the midst of a flourishing garden.  Unsullied guards stood at attention around the perimeter of the walls, and at the entry to the manse servants awaited Aegon and his companions.  When they reached the doors to the manse, Aegon and his escorts dismounted and were led into the entry hall of the manse.  Inside, they were greeted by yet more servants.

“The magister has been anxiously awaiting your arrival,” the best dressed servant said, speaking directly to Aegon.  “You are to come with me.  The rest of your companions will be escorted to their chambers to refresh after such a long journey.”

“I will go with him,” Jon said, taking a few steps closer to Aegon.

The servant shook his head.  “Only the boy.  The Magister has commanded that I bring the boy to his drawing rooms immediately.”

“I will go with him,” Aegon offered.  “The Magister is our friend.”

Jon gazed at him shrewdly, but did not protest any further.  If any harm was meant toward Aegon, the time for concern had been before they ever passed the gates of the manse.  Aegon knew that he was safe in the manse, but he appreciated Jon’s concern.  Jon stepped away and was led with Duck, Haldon, and Lemore down one of the many halls which led from the entry vestibule.

Aegon was led down a different hall at the far end of the room.  They ascended a marble staircase and walked through a gallery of paintings and after that, a gallery of sculptures.  Their journey ended on a large, shaded terrace.  Aegon’s escort left him as soon as he stepped out onto the terrace.

Outside, he saw the magister seated upon a large chair, drinking from a crystal goblet.  Standing at the edge of the terrace, looking down at the gardens, was a slim woman with plaited-silver hair.

“Dany,” he questioned, loud enough to be heard by the girl.

She turned at the sound of his voice, and observed him in confusion for a few moments.  “Aegon?”

He laughed.  “Who else would it be?”

She ran to him, and threw her arms around his neck.  He spun her around, laughing.  “Your hair is blue,” she exclaimed, through laughter.  “I was surprised.  I also have not seen you in years.”

“We were married.”

She rolled her eyes and extricated herself from his embrace.  “I knew who you were quickly enough.  I have missed you.”

“So you defied the gods to see me again,” he asked with a smirk.

Her brow raised slightly.  “You wish.”  Her words were spoken so seriously that he laughed again, causing her to laugh as well.

A not so subtle cough broke their joyful reunion.  Aegon had quite nearly forgotten about the magister.  “It seems that young Daenerys’s story gains more credibility with every passing day,” Illyrio said.  “I am glad that you arrived here safely.”

Aegon smiled.  “As am I, uncle.”  Much to his disappointment, the magister’s face showed no flicker of surprise.  “Did you tell him that I know?”

“We returned nearly a month ago, I have spoken with the magister about a good many things.”

“You always spoil my fun,” he pouted.

“I let you keep a mistress,” she scoffed.

“We needed the Tyrells, and you became best friends with her.”

She glared at him and he smirked in victory.  He noticed that Magister Illyrio was studying them both appraisingly and he flushed.  “I am sorry, uncle.”

Illyrio smiled.  “You are forgiven.  I know what it is like to see an old friend after a long time apart.  The finer points of what has occurred may be lost on a man like me, but I do believe everything I have been told.  Please, be seated and refresh yourself.”

Aegon and Daenerys walked to the table which was laden with food and drink and seated themselves beside their host.  Aegon poured wine for himself and for Dany, and nibbled at some of the fruits and cheeses which were on the table before them.  “What is it that you are planning,” he asked Daenerys after he had eaten a few bites of food and drank some of the wine.

She sipped at her wine for a few moments before she answered him.  “I am planning to take a trip to Asshai.”

“Asshai?  Why would you want to go there?  The journey will take a year, one way.  Winter is coming in a little over two years.  If you go all the way to Asshai, it will be winter in Westeros by the time you return.”  He looked between his one-time wife and his great-uncle.  Illyrio’s gaze rested firmly upon Dany, causing Aegon to realize that she had not told him all that he wished to know.

She looked toward the gardens and the city which sprawled beyond the walls of Illyrio’s manse.  “I need the dragons,” she replied simply.

Aegon’s eyes narrowed at her.  “You couldn’t control them before, what makes now different?”

She turned to him, yet her eyes remained far away.  “ _You_ could not control a dragon.  The dragon must have three heads, or so the prophecy says.  I controlled Drogon, Jon controlled Viserion, and you tried and failed to control Rhaegal.  With three _true_ dragons, we should be able to keep the dragons on our side.”

He contemplated her words, and found himself agreeing with her, to an extent.  “So you think that your _brother_ , whom you yourself described as ‘half-mad’, can control a dragon?  Then yourself and Jon would control the other two?  I still don’t understand why you need to travel all the way to Asshai.  Why not just hatch the dragons here?”

She gazed at him incredulously.  “Do you remember the story I told you about how I hatched the eggs?  The magic needed to restore the dragons requires a blood sacrifice.  I doubt very much that anyone in this city would approve of me burning three people alive to hatch dragons.  Asshai is where I need to go, for a blood sacrifice and for other reasons.”

“ _Other_ reasons,” the magister questioned.

Dany’s eyes narrowed.  “The curse which was used to bring us backward in time was part of a much larger curse.  The part we found and used was kept within the Citadel.  Another part is hidden somewhere at the Wall.  A third piece is in Asshai.  We are trying to gather all of the pieces together in order to defeat the Others.”

“We?”  The question came from Illyrio again.  Aegon worried that Dany would tell the man too much, and yet what choice did they have?  They needed allies in order to change history.

“Those in Westeros and Essos who were returned with myself,” was Dany’s crisp reply.  He knew that she did not enjoy divulging information to anyone.  She preferred to keep her secrets close to her heart, to avoid being betrayed again.

“On that front, I have received word from a friend in Westeros,” Illyrio said.  “It seems that my friend Varys, and Tyrion Lannister are working together on your behalf.”

Dany glared at their host.  “Why was I not told about this?”

He favored her with a condescending smile.  “I received the message whilst you were still ensconced within Khal Drogo’s manse.”  Dany’s cheeks flushed red.  Apparently she had been busier than Aegon realized.  “It makes no matter,” he continued with a casual wave of his hand.  “I replied that you were well and that you had my full cooperation.”

“For that you have my eternal gratitude,” Dany replied, with all the courtesy she could muster.  Aegon could see by the way she clenched her jaw that she was less than thrilled by Illyrio’s actions.  “What preparations have been made?”

“There are three ships provisioned for your journey.  They are scheduled to depart on the evening tide.  They will make port at Tyrosh, Lys, Volantis, New Ghis, Qarth, Yin, and then Asshai.  The captains have been instructed to follow all of your commands.”

“Thank you magister,” she said.  “Will you keep my brother alive and well within your manse until I return?  He is important.  He is also my brother and my blood.  I may not always love him, but he raised and protected me from my birth.”

“Of course, he is my guest.”

She bowed her head in gratitude.  “I thank you for all that you have done for me.  Do you have the dragon eggs?”

“They will travel with you to the ships.  If you do not have faith that I will send them with you, you may look at them yourself before you board the vessel.”

Aegon had been listening intently to their exchange quietly, but he finally spoke up.  “What, may I ask, will I be doing?”

“Traveling with me,” she replied sheepishly.

He stared at her slack-jawed.  “Are you planning to sacrifice me?”

She stared at him, wide-eyed and winded.  “No, by all the gods why would I do that?”  She reached moved her hand across the table and laid it upon his.  “I trust you.  You are the only friend I have.”

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.  “Then I will gladly go with you.”  He turned to his relative.  “Will my friends accompany us?”

“Yes,” he replied.  “They are your companions and escorts, though you should modify the truth for them.”

The boy nodded.  “I am young Griff.  I have not forgotten the importance of secrecy.  I believe that Dany and I can create a tale convincing enough to tell my keepers.”

“I do have faith in you,” he said with no small measure of pride.  In turning to Daenerys he added, “I have faith in both of you.  You will leave for the docks in four hours.  Until then, you are free to enjoy the comforts of my home.”

They thanked him in unison.  They lingered on the terrace for a while longer, eating and drinking with the magister.  When they were finished, Dany escorted Aegon from the room.  They walked arm and arm down the long corridors of the manse.

“I am saddened that I have never been here before,” he said.

She smiled at him.  “I have lived here for many months, from what I can remember.  Yet I never felt at home here.”

“Did you ever feel at home?”

“Once,” she sighed wistfully.

He stopped walking when she did not continue and looked at her expectantly.  “Where was that?”

“Oh, in Braavos.”

“Braavos?”

She nodded slowly.  “In Braavos we lived in a house with a red door.  I had my own bedroom and there was a lemon tree outside my window.  That was my only home.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple.  “I am sorry.”

“For what?”  She cocked her head to the side and regarded him curiously.

“I am sorry that you only knew a home once in your entire life.  I am sorry that I never knew you lived in Braavos.  I am sorry that I could not control the dragon.  Part of me is sorry that I chose to remain behind.”

She touched his cheek gently, with sadness in her eyes.  “None of that was your fault.  You remained out of love and devotion.  For that I do not blame you.”  She breathed deeply and began to walk again.  “Come, why don’t we say farewell to my brother?”

He resumed walking beside her, and she slipped her arm into his again.  They were not much further along when he asked, “So you were staying with Drogo?”

She blushed as she had before, her pale skin lighting up a brilliant shade of pink.  “We can discuss that when we are on the waters away from here.”

He nodded gravely, bowing to her ever so slightly and then grinning at her.  “Of course your grace.”

She pulled away from him and glared, walking away from him without speaking.  He laughed.  “I’m sorry Dany, I just couldn’t resist, like you apparently couldn’t resist him.”

She turned to him again, a mixture of anger and pain in her eyes.  “Stop it,” she hissed.  “I went to him for safety and to create an alliance.  All of my life, all that I have ever done is create alliances with my body and destroy everything that I touch.  I loved him.  I loved him with everything I am, and I killed him.  A child of fourteen and I was a widow.  I destroyed Astapor and Mereen.  I...”

He walked to her and wrapped his arms around her.  “Dany, you brought all of us back to life so that we can have a second chance.  I am sorry for provoking you.  Truly I am.”

She was shaking for a few moments, breathing heavily, before she pulled away.  “I know.”  She smiled up at him, weakly.  “I am glad that you are with me, even though you infuriate me half of the time.”

He released her slowly and they began to walk again.  They walked through the column lined halls which were filled with light from the many windows with which they were lined.  Along the way, asked servants where Viserys, and Aegon’s companions could be found.  They walked to see Jon Connington first, for they expected that discussion to be easier than any conversation with Viserys.

They found Jon and the rest of Aegon’s companions in one of the many sitting rooms of the manse.  They had all turned at the opening of the door, but stared wide-eyed at the sight of Daenerys upon Aegon’s arm.  It was Jon who had the sense to bow before her, followed by the rest.

“You know me,” she asked, curious.

“We have never met,” Jon replied.  “Yet I know who you are, for you look so much like your mother and brother.  I am Jon Connington, once I served as your father’s Hand.  I am pleased to meet you, Princess Daenerys.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you as well my lord.  I have heard that you have protected my nephew so well and valiantly these many long years.  Our host is planning to send myself and Aegon, along with all of you, on a rather long journey.  My brother will be remaining here, safely.”

Aegon’s adoptive father appraised her with narrowed eyes.  “Where will we be traveling and why?”

“The Shadow Lands,” she answered simply.  “We will be traveling there to see magic be reborn.”

Doubt clouded the man’s face, and why not, he had seen the madness of Dany’s father.  Magic reborn meant nothing to him.  Aegon decided to speak up for her.  “There is much that I can explain to you when we are on our way east.  For now, I believe that Dany needs to bid farewell to her brother.”

He took her hand and practically pulled her from the room.

“Why did you do that,” she questioned as they walked away.

“I will explain everything to him, including that we travelled through time, when we are on the ship.  I don’t want to explain any of that to him as of yet.”

She nodded slowly.  “I can see your point.”  She glanced behind them and saw Aegon’s companions looking after them.  “We are being followed.”

He looked behind them as well.  “I will explain everything later,” he said loudly.  To their credit, his friends walked back into the room, shaking their heads.  “Problem settled,” he said with a smile.

“Now to deal with my problem,” she muttered.  “I have provoked my brother terribly as of late.”

“Why would you do a thing like that?”

“Everything provokes my dear brother.  At present, my greatest sin is that I rejected the Khal’s hand in marriage, but I spent the past several weeks by his side.  In a way the whole situation is amusing, in a terrible way.”

“Oh?”

A sad flicker of a smile ghosted across her lips.  “He hated the love I received from the Dothraki when I was Drogo’s khaleesi.  He was so impatient, so angry...”

He kissed her temple gently.  “Perhaps he can be patient this time while he rests here in comfort.”

“I still worry.”

“As do I.”

She shook her head gently.  “I worry for when he learns about Jon.  You will be a hard enough shock, even more so when he learns that truth, but Jon...”

“Is a bridge we will cross in two years’ time.  Until then, worry will get us nowhere. Now shall we face this angry brother of yours?”

She agreed with his statement, and they walked to the far end of the manse where they found Viserys seated on a terrace, sharpening a borrowed sword.

“Hello brother,” she said gently.

He looked up at her, his eyes red and unhappy.  Then his gaze drifted to Aegon.  “Did you find some other man to whore yourself to now?  Where did this one come from?”

She gripped Aegon’s hand so tightly that if she were stronger, he was convinced his hand would have broken.  Never, not even when they faced the Others, had he seen Dany so frightened.  Seeing her standing before her brother, he finally understood the young woman he had married a lifetime past.

She spoke so calmly that he stood in awe of her.  “Viserys, I would like you to meet our nephew, Aegon.”

The sword dropped from Viserys’s hands with a sudden clank.  He stood and walked to them, eyeing Aegon suspiciously.  “My nephew died,” he breathed in shock.

Aegon’s mouth went dry.  He knew that the lie was important.  He knew that there was no choice but to claim that he was still Aegon Targaryen.  Yet the lie felt like bile on his tongue, now that he knew the truth.  “I was smuggled from the city by Lord Varys the night the Lannisters stormed the city. I was kept hidden and safe.”

Viserys laid a hand upon his shoulder, still wary.  “Why was this secret kept until now?  Why do you know the truth,” he asked Dany.

“For safety,” she replied.  “To preserve our family.  That is why I have been so strange as of late, sweet brother.  I discovered the truth and was sworn to secrecy. Now Aegon and I are being sent away by the magister, far away in order to raise an army for our family.”

“The Dothraki were his plan,” he seethed.

“The Dotrhaki would never have crossed the Narrow Sea.  They see the oceans as being poison.  Yet to us, they are nothing.  We are the blood of dragons, the sky is our domain.  We were born to conquer.”  She smiled at him lovingly.  “We were born to rule.”

“Why are the two of you going to collect an army?  Where will you go?”

“You must remain here, in safety,” she said in earnest.  “If all three of us are together, our house could be extinguished in a moment.  Aegon and I will be traveling to Asshai, into the heart of the Shadow, to wake dragons from stone.”

“Dragons,” he stared at her, hope mixed with mistrust.

“Dragons,” she laughed.  “We will wake dragons.”

“Where will you find these dragons?”

“The magister has given us a gift of three eggs.  Do not be angry with our host,” she pleaded.  “He is a cautious man, as we all must be in such uncertain times.”

He paused to consider her words, and then looked upon Aegon again.  “Are you truly my brother’s son.”

_‘Some day the gods will condemn me for this lie,’_ he thought.  “I am Aegon Targaryen,” he replied firmly.

Viserys embraced him suddenly.  “Welcome to our family.”

He noticed the flicker of relief on Dany’s face, and found himself flooded with relief.  They spent the rest of the afternoon talking with Viserys and Aegon’s companions.  The reunion between Lord Connington and his monarchs was touching, and Viserys did not rage at them the rest of the day.  A few hours before evening, they made their way from the manse to the docks.

They were joined at the docks by Ser Jorah Mormont.  He boarded the ship first, while their supplies were loaded.  The last of their possessions to be loaded on the vessel was a large chest which Illyrio had laid before Daenerys.  She stood impatiently as they opened the chest and three large dragon eggs were revealed to them.  Having seen the dragons which would hatch from the eggs, Aegon was filled with a mixture of wonder and terror.  Dany seemed for a moment to be frozen, standing unmoving as she looked at the eggs.  Viserys stood beside her, wide-eyed.  He knelt on the damp planks of the dock and stroked the black and red egg reverently.  Broken from whatever was keeping her staring at the eggs, she too knelt and caressed the eggs.  She sighed audibly when she touched the eggs, tension draining from her posture.

She and her brother stood, turning to face the magister.  “Thank you magister Illyrio.  Thank you for all that you have done for myself and my family.  You are eternally in our debt.”  She turned to Viserys.  “Be well, my brother.  I will see you again.”  He embraced her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Be safe little sister.”  He released her, and then embraced Aegon as well.  “Be safe, my nephew.”

Aegon nodded stiffly, and they parted.  A few moments later, Aegon and Dany followed the chest of eggs onto the ship.  His friends and companions followed behind them.  The eggs were secured in the cabin which he and Daenerys were to share while they stood on deck, watching as the planks were withdrawn and the moorings were released.  They watched as Illyrio and Viserys boarded his palanquin and made their way back to the manse.

That evening, Aegon and Daenerys spent much of the evening explaining everything which had transpired to Jon, Lemore, Duck, and Haldon.  They were joined by Jorah, adding to the credibility of the story which Dany and Aegon wove. There was much disbelief and doubt from all four of Aegon’s friends.  The discussions lasted long into the evening before everyone retired for the night, determined to continue their discussions in the morning.

Dany readied herself for bed by dressing in a silk sleeping shift.  Aegon dressed in loose sleeping breeches.  They laid together to sleep, his arms wrapped around her protectively.

“Why were you so tense looking at the eggs,” he murmured.

“I was afraid,” she replied eventually.  “When I first received the eggs they felt hot to me and no one else.  I was afraid that they would feel cold.”

“They did not?”

She moved her head negatively.  “They were warm.  As warm as the sun and fire.  The gods want me to make them live again.  I was not wrong.”

“We are all glad for that,” he replied, kissing the back of her head.  “Do you want to explain to me what happened with Drogo?”

She sighed deeply.  “I convinced him that living with me would only bring him death.  The sky and sea and Westeros are mine, not the Dothraki Sea.  I told him that I can never bear him a living child.”

“You cannot be certain of that.”

“I have never borne one.  I only conceived once in my entire life.  I will never have a child,” she whispered.

He hugged her tightly.  “Perhaps the gods will be kinder to you this time.”

“I defied all the laws of the gods to travel back to this time.  I am not certain that the gods will grant me any kindness.”

“Maybe if you win the battle against the Others they will think differently.”

She laughed.  “One problem at a time dear one, one problem at a time.  For now, I just want to sleep.”

“You wish is my command, your grace.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, nestling closer to his chest.

They drifted asleep, side by side, ready for their long journey to Asshai.  Asshai and the dragons were their first goal.  They could only hope that their allies in Westeros would be ready for their arrival when the time came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so grateful for all of the support this story has received!
> 
> The only random thing I can think of mentioning is that Illyrio doesn't care about the mention of human sacrifice because he follows the Lord of Light. The first time we are ever introduced to R'hllor is by Illryio mentioning that god in Dany's very first chapter.


	17. Eddard II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your support!

There were times, Ned had come to realize, when your life changes unexpectedly.  The first time he had come to that realization was when his mother had died birthing Benjen.  Many years later he had learned the lesson again when his father and brother were murdered.  Over the course of two years he lost three family members, and gained three new family members.  He had never learned how to heal from the losses of his father, brother, and sister.  He had just learned that time moves forward, filled with bits of joy, sorrow, and loss.  Wounds of loss never heal, but in time they hurt less.

Catelyn and the children had been the greatest source of his peace and happiness.   His beautiful Catelyn, who could brighten his day with a smile, a kiss, a gentle word.  Never was he happier than when he saw the way she loved their children.

For a time everything seemed right with the world.  He had everything that his heart could desire.  Then everything had changed quite literally overnight.  His wife and children, once so familiar, now at times felt like strangers.

Everyone had noticed.  Maester Luwin frequently asked if anything unusual had happened with the children. Septa Mordane had asked quite nearly the same question.   The servants cast strange looks at his family and whispered more frequently, or perhaps he was just imagining that they noticed as well.

He could not pretend that life was the same.  He could see the wounds his children, wife, and ward bore.

Rickon, thankfully, seemed the least effected.  He had returned to his routines much faster than the other children, though he oft demanded to sleep beside Catelyn.  He ate more than usual, and cried out at night occasionally, but otherwise seemed quite happy.

Bran was the quietest and most somber of the children where once he had been the merriest.  His days, as soon as he finished his lessons, were spent before the heart tree.  There were times when he slept beside the tree, with his Summer at his side.  At first, Ned had expected to find his son within the boughs of the tree, but he never climbed. His son who had been known to climb every tree and wall of Winterfell now remained on the ground.  It was also quite common for him to be very quiet and observant.  He seldom spoke more than was necessary.  The advice he offered about the future was useful, and often frightening.

Arya, once the most fiery of his children was now, in many ways, the most proper.  Yes, she trained with sword and bow, but he had permitted Sansa to do the same.  She was ever polite, guarded, watchful, and meticulous.   She spoke often and well, but possessed an uncanny ability to say little whilst speaking much.  He did not, even for a single moment, believe that she had trained as a sell sword.  She did speak Braavosi, and several other languages.  In the few stories she had told him, either she had flitted from place to place for an entire decade, or she had been trained exhaustively in certain skills.   His greatest fear was that both ideas were true.  He was suspicious of what she had become, as Sansa clearly knew and said nothing.

Sansa, for lack of a better word, was cold.  His daughter who had once trusted without a hint of doubt, now gazed with suspicion upon everyone.  Where once she had seen life as being a place of wonder and magic, she saw despair.  Her laughter and smiles were weak, though improving.  She was still polite and gentle, but the way she held a sword made him wonder if she had killed before. He had come to believe that she had blocked most of her unpleasant memories from her mind.

He wished that he could comfort his daughters and wife, but he had never been good with comforting women.  His experiences with comforting women had never gone well.  Quite clearly he remembered Lyanna and Ashara Dayne.

Ashara, grieving many losses, but most especially her brother, had thrown herself into the sea a day after he returned Dawn to her.  Was there a good way to tell a woman that you had slain her brother?

His sister had never wanted comfort.  She had not sought peace when their mother died or when she had lain dying from birthing Jon. Lyanna had been angry with their mother and Benjen for their mother's death.  Lya had fussed and fought, but she had not cried.  She was not much different, years later, when Jon was born.  She had been afraid, but never for herself.  "Protect him Ned, promise me that you will keep him safe.  Promise me, Ned."  He had never been able to refuse her anything.

She lived on, in Jon of course, but in Arya's eyes and Sansa's smile as well.  Jon had been the most open about all of his future experiences.  He held nothing back, as far as Ned could discern.  He was open about how angry and hurt he felt.  He was honest about the condition of the Wall and Night's Watch.  He seemed to be adjusting well to the past, but he spoke little about what his future would bring.

Did Jon want to be the King? Did he want the throne of his father?  They never discussed the idea, such talk was unsafe, yet Ned could not help but wonder what the future could hold.  If there truly were people in most of the Seven Kingdoms who knew the future, who would they support?  Would they betray Robert?  Could Ned betray a man who had been his best friend and foster brother?  Guilt told him that he could.  He had betrayed Robert by keeping Jon alive and safe.  If the choice were between his family and Robert Baratheon, there was only one option.

Family came first, and his family was set to grow again. In a few short months he was to gain a daughter by marriage.  His nephew, Robert Arryn, was set to arrive as well.  Young Robin was to foster with House Stark, just as Ned had done with Jon Arryn as a boy.  Ned and his lady wife were also anticipating the arrival of another child.

Of all the stories his family had told him upon their awakening in the past, Catelyn's hurt him the deepest.  Catelyn, whom he had sworn to protect, had died alone and bereft of all whom she had ever loved.  If he had been there to protect her, then surely he could have protected his entire family.  His wife, once so vibrant and strong spirited, was now hollow much of the time.

They had spoken at length the evening in which she had returned from the future she had seen.  Her tale came in broken bits.  She spoke of the deaths of their son, and herself before she quieted.  There remained untold parts to her story, he knew, but she would reveal all of her story in time.

He had then gathered the courage to ask her what she thought of Jon's parentage.  She rested against his chest, clutching him as though her life were dependent upon his touch.

“What do you think of myself and of Jon, now that you know the truth,” he asked her gently.

“It does not matter,” she replied after a long pause.  “Once I would have wanted nothing more than to know the truth.  Once, I would have been angry with you for this secret.  Now...  You were lost to me Ned, and all of our children were dead. I witnessed our firstborn...” The words caught in her throat and she buried her face against his chest.  “Jon could be the son of our chambermaid and I would not care.  All that matters is that you and the children are alive and whole, here in Winterfell.  I understand why you kept the truth hidden.  We have not spoken much of the war, and I find that perhaps we should have spoken about our ghosts a very long time ago.”

He caressed her face, and kissed her head.  “I am sorry, my love.  I am sorry for lying to you.  I am sorry that I was not able to protect you.”

She shifted so that she was looking up at him.  She ran a gentle hand through the hair of his beard.  “All is forgiven, my love.  Knowing that you are here with me again is enough for me.”

She rose up and met his lips with her own.  He kissed her as fiercely as a drowning man seeks air.  Need fueled their couplings.  Need for comfort and safety.  From their desire, new life had been conceived.

They had yet to tell anyone about her pregnancy.  They were waiting until the moment felt right.  Perhaps they were truly waiting until they felt unafraid for the future.  If they could not stop the Others, then they would all perish, the new babe included.  However, truth be told, Ned did not think about disaster and doom when he looked upon his wife and the growing swell of her belly.  All he thought about when he saw her was how much he loved her, their children, and the life they had made together.

It was shortly after first light when Ned awoke on the morning of Robb’s fifteenth nameday.  He pushed himself up in bed and looked over at Cat’s sleeping form where he saw Rickon curled against her.  He shook his head and his lips curled into a lazy smile.  Rickon’s continued desire to sleep in their room was an endearing nuisance.  Ned pressed a kiss to the back of Catelyn’s head, running a hand through her long hair.  She stirred at his touch and slowly turned to face him.

“Good morning my love,” he murmured in soft tones.

She smiled up at him.  Her smiles were starting to come more easily, for which Ned was grateful.  “Good morning.  Did you sleep well?”

“I did, though it would appear that our son did not.”

She glanced down at Rickon, their youngest son had laid claim to one of her arms.  “He only sleeps well beside me.  I wish that he would sleep beside his brothers or sisters, but you know that he feels safest here.”

He sighed.  “I understand that, but he will find himself losing room quite quickly as your belly grows.”  Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her lips as one of his hands drifted to the slight swell of her belly.

She laughed.  “He will be distraught when he is no longer the youngest Stark.”  She moved her free hand to where his rested upon her and entwined their fingers together.  “We should tell the children about my pregnancy soon.  The Tyrell host and your bannermen should all be arriving over the next month, I feel that the children should know before we are surrounded by guests and marrying off our eldest child.”

“We could tell them today.  I promised to break my fast with Robb and we have his name day feast tonight, but in between I do not believe that we have much else planned.”

“You and I are supposed to share the mid-day meal with Lord and Lady Reed, remember?”

“I have not forgotten.”  Lord Howland Reed, along with his wife and children, had arrived at Winterfell a week past.  While they had spoken briefly, but there had been little time to just enjoy one another’s company.  “We can tell the children before or after we dine with the Reeds.”

“If we can get Bran to leave the godswood.”

Ned squeezed her hand.  Bran was spending more and more time at the heart tree as the days passed.  The two Reed children had joined him in the godswood shortly after their arrival, although they spent considerably less time in the woods than Bran.  Ned understood why Bran spent his time at the heart tree.  He understood that his son was seeing visions and speaking with people through the eyes of the weirwoods.  He knew that his son’s abilities were very important, and yet it shook him to his core to know the sort of power his young boy possessed.

“He does leave the godswood,” he soothed.

“Not enough.  I am afraid for him.”

“As am I, but there is nothing that we do to change him.”

“You are his father and the Lord of Winterfell,” she hissed.  “You could command him to not spend all of his day at the tree.”

“I can not do that, though my heart would wish for him to be a normal child again.”

“Why not?”

“He is trying to see where our enemies are moving.  He is trying to see ensure that the Others gain as little ground beyond the Wall as possible.  He is trying to see a thousand other things that I can not even begin to understand.”

“He is just a little boy...”

“Not anymore, only Rickon is still a child, the rest have seen and been through more than many adults will ever experience.

They were quiet for several long minutes.  “Will he go with you?”

“When?”

“When the time comes for you to do whatever you have planned with your brother and Jon.  The four of you were closeted together for nearly three months in discussions before Benjen returned to the Wall.”

He breathed deeply, and laid down again.  He wrapped his other arm behind her head; his hand just brushing the top of Rickon’s head.  He had not yet told her of the plans which had been devised by himself, Benjen, Jon, and Bran.  He wanted to wait until after Robb’s wedding to worry her about the decisions they had reached.

“Yes,” he answered finally.

She stiffened in his arms.  “What are you planning?”

He hesitated, for he knew that she would not like what he was going to tell her.  “Jon, Bran, and I will be heading to the Wall after the guests have left from Robb’s wedding.  We will go there with the men and supplies which have been granted to us by the Tyrells.  From there we will be travelling with a party of men beyond the Wall in order to find Mance Rayder, the King Beyond the Wall.”

“Why?” Her question was terse, but sounded more like a plea than an accusation.

“We need the wildlings to cross to our side of the Wall.”  Did those words actually leave his mouth?  “I do not like it any more than you.  However, if they do not cross to our side, they will be turned by the Others.  I would rather have a host of wildlings fighting for us than fighting against us.”

“Even if they fight for the living during winter, what will happen when spring arrives?”

He had asked his brother and son that same question, and neither of them knew the answer.  Jon had spoken with Mance Rayder, had eaten with the man.  Jon had allowed thousands of wildlings through the Wall, wildlings who did fight and die beside him during the long winter.  They knew what to expect from winter.  They did not know what to expect from spring.

“Jon believes that some of them will willingly settle the Gift.  Some of them will wish to pass back into the lands beyond the Wall.”

“And what of the ones who wish to fight for more land?”

He did not want to think upon what open war with the wildlings could mean.  “War will come if need be.  We are still better armed and better trained.  Jon said that he took children as hostages from the families when they crossed beneath the Wall; we will do the same.”

“Why must Bran go?”  Her voice came as a whisper.

“He insisted that he must go.  He knows the lands beyond the Wall.  He knows how to speak to the Children of the Forest.  Robb will remain here with you, his new bride, and all of the rest of our children.  Robb will lead Winterfell in my absence.  If he was able to be a king, then I do not doubt that he will be a good ruler in my stead.”

She remained silent and stiff in his arms, though she had not pulled away from him.  He clutched her close, kissed the back of her head, and pulled away.  He wanted to ask her where she was lost within her own thoughts, but did not want to burden her with speaking of the pains which she had witnessed.  No doubt the idea of him travelling away from her while Robb was in charge of Winterfell created a visceral response within her.

He stood from the bed and changed from his sleeping tunic into the clothing which he would wear that day.  When he had finished dressing, he walked back to the bed.  He stood before her and crouched so that he was at eye level with her.  She was staring straight ahead, unblinking.  He caressed her cheek, allowing his fingers a few moments to play with a lock of her hair.

“You are the most beautiful woman in all the world.  If I could spend every day beside you, I would.  I cannot take away the pains which were inflicted upon you or upon our children, but I need to fight for our future in any way that I possibly can.  Even if that means allowing an entire people whom we have long called enemies to pass into our borders.”

She raised her hand and touched his, stroking the back of his hand.  “I know my love,” she whispered.  She raised her eyes to meet his.  “I am just so afraid.”

He leaned above their son and pressed a kiss to her lips.  “I know.”  He reluctantly pulled away, and placed a kiss on their son’s brow.  “If only we could all sleep as soundly as Rickon.”  He smiled at her and she laughed.  With that, he took his leave of his wife and son.

He walked down the corridor, and checked upon each of his children’s rooms.  Bran was still asleep, with Summer laying at his feet.  Arya and Sansa were both in Sansa’s room, curled together.  Lady and Nymeria were sleeping on the floor near the fireplace.  Robb was also still asleep.  Greywind slept on the floor beside his bed.  Jon’s room was conspicuously empty, though Ned did not think too much of their absence.  All of the children would awake at various times to see to the needs of their wolves.

Ned walked down the stairs, and out into the central courtyard of Winterfell.  There were few people awake so early in the morning, so the courtyard remained relatively quiet.  The roosters were beginning to announce the dawn.  The cooks and animal handlers were wheeling carts of provisions from building to building.  The guards were switching from the night watchmen to the morning watchmen.  Anyone who saw the Lord of Winterfell bowed respectfully to him before they hurried about on their own tasks.

Ned walked into the godswood and made his way to the heart tree.  He tended to go to the godswood when he awoke to prepare his mind for the day ahead.  His father prayed before the heart tree at the break of dawn as well.  It was before the tree that Ned found Jon that morning, praying as he had been taught.  Ghost and Shaggydog were running with one another through the clearing.

“Good morning, father,” Jon said quietly as Ned approached.  The boy had not turned his face toward Ned.

“Do you see through the trees as well now?”

Jon turned to him and smiled.  “I can see through Ghost’s eyes.  He could smell you coming before you ever entered the godswood.”

“I do not believe that I will ever grow accustomed to some of the things which you and my other children can do.”

His smile dimmed and grew bitter.  “There are some things to which none of us will ever grow accustomed.”

Ned walked closer to his nephew and knelt beside him.  “I am sorry.”

Jon blinked at him in confusion.  “Oh, I did not mean anything to do with you.  I accepted the truth of my parentage long ago.  I understand why you made the decisions that you did.  I meant reliving this past; fighting the Others.  Sansa and Robb are still having trouble with our new lives.”

He bowed his head thoughtfully.  “I have noticed.  I had hoped that giving Robb time to refocus himself would be enough.  Time seems to have worked helped the rest of you settle.  Unless I am wrong?”  The question was directed a Jon.  He wanted to be certain that his adopted son was well.”

Jon nodded in agreement.  “I am well father.  I believe that Robb feels guilty for all that transpired.  I have no guilt to reflect upon.  I fought against the Others until my dying breath, there was nothing else I could have done differently.”

“I will speak with him today.”  He promised.  He did not want to leave Robb in charge of Winterfell if he was not ready to be a leader again.

“I hope that it can help.”  Jon stood and bowed respectfully to Ned.  “I will leave you to your prayers.”

A few moments later, Jon and the two direwolves made their way out of the godswood while Ned prayed before the tree.  About an hour later, Ned emerged to break his fast with his eldest son.  They met in his solar.  The servants had already filled the table with more food than the two of them could possibly eat.

A little while into their meal, Ned decided that it was time for them to discuss the future.  “You have grown up faster than I could ever have imagined.  In some ways, faster than I truly understand.  In a matter of months you will be a man wed, and you will soon after that be in charge of Winterfell.”

Surprise and worry lighted across his son’s face.  “Father?”

“I will be travelling to the Wall with Jon and Bran after you are wed.”  He allowed his son a few moments to allow that information to solidify in his mind.  “I have faith in your ability to lead Winterfell in my absence.”

He frowned and dropped his eyes to his plate.  He pushed around his food with his fork in silence.  “I wish that I shared your faith in me.”  Ned watched his son quietly, waiting for the boy to articulate his thoughts.  If ever there was a trait shared by the Stark men, it was the distinct inability to speak about their troubling thoughts.  “The last time you left me in charge of Winterfell, things did not end well.”

“Being betrayed does not make you a poor leader.  It seems that you, myself, and Jon were all betrayed by people we thought trustworthy in that life which you remember.  Does that mean all three of us are poor leaders?”

Robb raised his eyes, shocked at the notion.  “No, of course not.”

“Then learn from your decisions and make wiser choices this time.  I do not believe that anyone in history has been given a second chance in this way.  We should make the most of our time.”

He nodded his agreement, but still seemed uncertain.  “I want to do better.  I just... How do I forgive my mistakes?  How do I forgive the mistakes of others when the hurt is so deep?”

Ned knew that Robb was most likely speaking of Theon, Lord Bolton, and Lord Frey, but Ned’s thoughts turned elsewhere.  He thought of his sister Lyanna, dying of childbed fever when he found her.  _Ned, keep him safe.  The king, he is the king.  Keep him safe, please Ned.  Do not hate him because of my foolishness.  Promise me, Ned._   Their father and brother had been murdered.  _Promise me, Ned._ He had never denied his sister anything.

“Through time and acceptance that there are unchangeable events in our lives.”  He breathed deep, weary of heart.  “Come, why don’t we walk?”

Robb agreed, and they stood.  They walked from the room, instructing one of the servants to clear away the food.  Ned led them to one of the ramparts overlooking Winterfell.  They were alone on the high wall.  Ned gazed out across the landscape of Winterfell, watching the people milling about.  He then looked at his son.

“Do you think that it was easy for me to forgive Lyanna or Rhaegar?  To accept that she had been partially responsible for a war that caused the deaths of my father, my brother, and countless friends?  She was my little sister, but that did not make her deathbed confessions any easier to swallow.”

“Did you hate her?  Or Jon for being her son?”

He pressed his lips together in a grim line.  “I never hated Jon.  I could never hate a child.  Lya... She was only a year older than you are now when she died.  I was only a few years older than her, and Benjen not much younger than her.  She died holding my hands, pleading with me to keep him safe.”  It still hurt to think upon.  It had broken his heart to see her crying as she died.  Jon had been upon her chest, crying as loudly as his little lungs would allow.  “There were many days when I was angry with her.  I was angry with her every time I saw the pain in your mother’s eyes.  I have been angry every time that I saw how hurt Jon has been by being raised as a bastard.  I do not hate her or Rhaegar, but it has taken much for me to learn to forgive them.”

Ned held his son’s gaze, finding in much younger eyes a reflection of himself.  “Neither of us sought our positions.  I was a second son and you were born to be a lord, not a king.  We do not choose the paths the gods set before us, but we must walk them.”

Robb bowed his head.  “I will do my best father.”

The boy looked up again, blue eyes meeting grey.  Ned smiled.  “I know that you will.”

“What will become of Jon?”

Ned ran a hand through his beard, scratching a phantom itch.  “I have not spoken with him about the future.”

“Will he become king?”

Ned closed his eyes and sighed.  He thought of Robert Baratheon, a man he called king and friend.  What sort of friend was Ned?  “Our plans are to secure the North against the Others.  Until there is a change in the south, Jon is just my bastard son.  He is no threat to you.”

Robb laughed.  “I do not fear Jon.  He and I are brothers.  I do not fear the Lannisters now that Lord Tywin is dead.  I will not betray my betrothal pact with the Tyrells, so there is no fear that they will come here to kill me.  Theon appears to be more loyal to us now than ever before.”

“Then what do you fear my son?”

He gazed at his father with tangible sorrow.  “I fear for the day when I can no longer turn to you for advice.  I fear that the bannermen who betrayed us before will do so again.”

Ned rested a comforting hand upon his son’s shoulder.  “By the grace of the gods you will have many more years to learn from me.  As for those who betrayed you before, we must watch them all the more carefully now that we know who they are.”


	18. Margaery II

Margaery Tyrell slid open the window panel of the carriage she shared with her brother Garlan and the lady Brienne.  It was still raining, as it had been for the past two days.  By turns the rain would mist or pour from the sky in sheets.  At the moment the rain was lighter but still falling at a determined pace.

Through the rain she could see the tall, grey walls of Winterfell growing steadily nearer. So dreary this northern realm seemed to her.  Perhaps it was just the weather which made her feel so uncertain about the North.  Perhaps it was the reality of her betrothal finally sinking into her mind.  The marriage had been as much her plan as it was Garlan’s, but it had not seemed real until more recently.  She had been betrothed and wed previously, but this felt different.  Then again, life was different.

Life had not seemed so grim the first time she was fifteen years old and marrying.  Lord Renly Baratheon was a long time acquaintance, and close friend of her brother Loras.  They had wed in high spirits, with the dream of being King and Queen glimmering in their minds.  But Renly had died and her family used it as an opportunity.  She had not been permitted to mourn Renly, not when she could wed the insane bastard boy king, Joffrey called Baratheon.

She had disliked Joffrey from the moment she had met him.  He was proud, childish, and cruel.  If ever there was a complete opposite to Renly it was Joffrey. Her skin had crawled at his every touch and kiss.  Her dislike of the boy had only increased after Sansa's confessions about him.  Her grandmother had insisted that it was her duty as the King's betrothed to engender a better relationship than he had possessed with Lady Sansa.  She had tried.  She had smiled and laughed and lauded him for all to hear.

His death had been as relieving as it was terrifying.  Now, in the present, his death was still a relief.  He would not be able to terrorize anyone ever again.  Then, at what became known as the Purple Wedding, Margaery had wondered if the poison which had killed Joffrey had been meant for her as well.  The accusations which were levied against Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark had seemed erroneous from the start.  No doubt Sansa had wanted Joffrey’s head to be impaled upon a spike, but the girl would never have acted without help and would never have done it so publicly.  Similar arguments could have been made for why Tyrion Lannister was innocent, but his trial had not been about truth.  The trial had been about Cersei Lannister’s rage.

It had not been until after her marriage to the newly crowned child-king Tommen that Margaery learned the truth about Joffrey’s death.  She had told her grandmother that she was terrified to be in King’s Landing, that she might be poisoned or killed.  Lady Olenna had smiled at her, and assured her that she would be safe.  “You have nothing to fear my sweet one.  Oh the Queen Dowager will trouble you, of that I have no doubt, but you are more than a match for her.”

When Margaery had pressed further, stating her doubts about Sansa and Tyrion’s involvement in Joffrey’s death, she learned something close to the truth.  Her grandmother’s smirk had grown ominous.  “Would you fear roses sweetling?  I am certain that the girl is safe, and that her so-called husband will meet his end soon enough.  Your duty will be to navigate the muddy waters of this city and to bear the heirs to the throne when your husband is of age.  Do not worry yourself with matters which are well under control.”

They had exchanged a meaningful look, and Margarey deciphered the truth.  It had been her own family who had been responsible for King Joffrey’s death.  And from that day forward, Margaery had been forced to live with the truth while fending off the madness of Queen Cersei.

She had survived her false accusations and her trial by the Faith.  Sadly, Queen Cersei had been found innocent as well, but she no longer held any power.  The Lannisters had been weakened by the murders of Lords Tywin and Kevan, the poor decisions of Queen Cersei, and the many disappearances of Lannister men in the Riverlands, including Ser Jaime.  The Tyrells had suffered their own losses as well.  Loras had succumbed to the wounds he had received when storming Dragonstone.   Margaery’s father, Lord Mace, died during Aegon, claiming to be a Targaryen’s, siege of King’s Landing.

What a difference a few years had made to Westeros.  War after war, king after king, the kingdoms were a wasteland of bodies and winter had arrived in full force. A year after Joffrey had died, Aegon had arrived with his armies to lay siege to King’s Landing. Surrendering to Aegon had been the safest move. Surrendering ended the siege and allowed for the potential to regroup and perhaps even overthrow Aegon.

Margaery had taken it upon herself to secure her own position and that of her family.  She had no faith in kings, especially not after Joffrey Baratheon.  She did have faith in herself, faith in her ability to charm a man.  So she used herself to keep her head firmly attached to her neck.  It had been to her benefit that Aegon was a mostly naïve and sheltered young man.  She had been able to sway him easily.  She had never anticipated that he would be able to win her heart, but he did.  With every day that passed, his kindness won her to him.  When Queen Daenerys had arrived two years later, their arrangement did not change terribly much.  The Queen was the Queen, and Margaery was the mistress.  And that was how things had remained until King’s Landing fell to the Others five years later.

“What are you thinking about,” Garlan asked, breaking Margaery from her thoughts.

“Of all the loves I’ve had before,” she replied cryptically.  Seeing the frowns of her brother and companion, Margaery laughed lightly.  “No need to fret, this new life seems filled with unique possibilities.  Perhaps it is just the rain which saddens me.”

Neither of her companions appeared to be convinced, but they allowed the matter to rest.

She watched as the walls of Winterfell grew until they loomed overhead and they finally passed beneath the gates.  They were a vast host, and movement was slower in the courtyard.  They remained inside the carriage until they reached a large tower where many other people were entering.  They stopped, and the carriage door was opened.  Garlan stepped out first and was followed by herself and Brienne.  The rain only fell lightly upon them as they walked into the entry vestibule of the Great Keep.

The party which greeted them was small.  Servants, stewards, and a wide array of people were bustling in and out of the hall, assisting with the incoming guests.  Standing calmly before them were a somber looking, middle aged man, with brown hair and grey eyes, a younger man who reminded Margaery of Sansa, and a large wolf which was seated between the men.

“Welcome to Winterfell,” the older man said.  His voice was kind, a lord’s voice.  “I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell.”

Garlan introduced himself, Margaery, and Brienne.  Lord Stark introduced his son and heir, Robb. The men clasped hands, and kissed Margaery’s hand.  They greeted Brienne politely, but she was not the sort of woman one kisses upon the hand in greeting.  Margaery noticed the look which passed between Robb and Brienne, the two had never met, but knew of one another.

Margaery studied he betrothed while her brother and his father were speaking.  She noticed that he was observing her as well.  He did have a certain appeal to him, sparkling blue eyes and fiery hair, strong features and well-muscled.  She was uncertain if she was happy or upset that he bore no resemblance to Aegon.  Would she ever be able to forget Aegon and accept her place beside this new man?  Would she learn to feel at home so far north, in a place which in no way resembled her home?

“I apologize for such a small welcoming party,” Lord Eddard said.  “With the weather forcing us to welcome you in such a small, busy area, having my entire family here to greet you would make travel through this hall quite difficult.  We are planning a welcoming feast in our Great Hall this evening.  An hour before the feast it will be my pleasure to introduce you to the rest of my family.  For the time being, you may wish to see your rooms and refresh yourselves?”

After being stuck inside a carriage for a day, the only thing which she desired to do was to walk.  “If it is not an imposition, I would enjoy seeing more of Winterfell.  Having been inside a carriage for so long makes one wish to walk about.”

Lord Eddard looked to his son, and Robb responded as was expected.  “It would be an honor to show you around the castle, my lady.  I hope that you will not be offended by Greywind’s presence?”

Did she have a choice?  She assumed that Greywind was the massive wolf which was seated beside Lord Robb.  If she were truly to marry into the family, she would need to learn to accept the presence of the wolf.  “Will I be safe?”

“So long as you have no ill intent, Greywind will not seek to harm you.  Here, hold out your hand to him.”

She approached the direwolf.  Its head was higher than her waist and the creature was still seated.  No wonder Robb Stark had earned the name ‘Young Wolf’.  She held out a cautious hand, as she would with a dog.  The direwolf sniffed her hand for a moment and then licked the tips of her fingers.  She looked up at her betrothed, curious.

He grinned at her.  She liked his smile, it brightened his eyes.  “It seems that you are accepted, my lady.”

She laughed in relief, happy that the creature had not taken off her hand.  “I am glad of that.”

“Lord Stark,” Garlan said, “While my sister is being shown around, shall we finalize the details of our pact?”

Lord Eddard bowed his head in agreement.  “Of course.  Vayon, please assist with the remaining arrivals.”

“Of course, my lord,” a nearby man, who was slightly shorter and greyer than Lord Stark, replied.

Garlan kissed her cheek.  “Enjoy your tour.”

“Enjoy the paperwork,” she replied with a wry smile.

He shook his head at her.  She knew that he often preferred to not be the person in charge of technical political details, but the lot had fallen to him in this matter.  Their father had laid that charge upon him when they met to say farewell on the way to the Riverlands. The North was too far a journey for her parents and grandmother to journey.  Loras had chosen to remain with Lord Renly when they returned to King’s Landing.  Willas making the journey was considered too difficult given his leg. There was no political value in her cousins being her attendants in the North, so they had remained behind as well.   So all the family which was left to her was Garlan, until he too returned south.  Part of Margaery was glad to be away from her family, and part of her would miss them fiercely, she supposed that was the way of the world.  She was always going to marry away from Highgarden and become the lady of that household, leaving her own family behind.

Garlan and Lord Stark left the room after a few moments.  A whirl of men and women were still moving through the room, with various attendants of House Stark directing the arrivals down various halls.  She noticed Brienne standing there, seeming lost and out of place.

“Lady Brienne, would you be so kind as to see to our rooms while I become acquainted with Lord Robb?”

The older girl’s face flooded with relief, nearly smiling.  The poor girl had scarcely smiled since... well since Renly had died in their first lifetime.  Coming to Winterfell was duty for Brienne, but duty often had a bitter taste.  She agreed, and departed from the hall with one of the young women in service to House Stark.  Margaery left the entry hall upon Robb’s arm a few moments later, his direwolf trailing behind them.

“Winterfell is a lovely place,” she told him politely.  She did think that Winterfell had a certain grandeur.  It was ancient, its history was lost in the depths of time.  Built by Bran the Builder during the Age of Heros, or so it was said, and it felt older if such a thing were possible.  The white walls of Highgarden, the black walls of Storm’s End, and the red walls of King’s Landing did not hold the same type of awe which Winterfell inspired.

“That is kind of you to say.  I am certain that it is nothing like Highgarden.”

“True, nor is it like Storm’s End or the other castles of the south.  It does however feel different, older, almost sacred.”

“Sacred,” he mulled over the word for a few moments.  “Other than our godswood, and the sept which my father built for my mother, I do not believe I have heard Winterfell described as sacred before.  Though perhaps you are right.  Winterfell is ancient.  My family’s bones for a thousand generations lie buried here.”

“Which is one of the many benefits my family sees in our marriage.”

He glanced down at her.  “Might I ask what the other reasons were?”

_To prevent the war_ , she thought grimly.  She looked up at him and smiled.  “Did you not read our betrothal pact?”

His cheeks flushed pink, a charming trait.  “I must confess that I did not spend much time learning the details of the arrangement.  Would you care to enlighten me?”

_The King in the North indeed_... She looked around the hall and could see that they were alone for the moment. “For Highgarden, the marriage will strengthen the position of House Tyrell.  I come from the youngest of the Great Houses and you from two of the oldest.  You are the heir of Winterfell and the second in line to Riverrun, through your mother.  You are cousin to the future Lord of the Vale.  Economically speaking, Highgarden will receive a reduction in the cost of lumber, quarried stone, metals, furs, wool, and a variety of other Northern products.  There is also a reduction in cost for some trade items with Riverrun due to your close blood ties.  The North will receive produce from the Reach at a reduced rate, as well as similar reductions in the price of spices, lumber, cloth, and so forth.  Some sum of gold has been exchanged, I am certain.  And the six thousand men who accompanied me and are encamped outside of Winterfell, as well as supplies have been ordered North for the improvement of the Wall. A gesture of good will to House Stark, as the Wall is considered important to your House. The men are to serve a term of ten years in the North, and may remain if they wish or they may return to the Reach when their term of service has ended.”

In ten years, either they would all be dead or the Others would be defeated...

He nodded thoughtfully. “My uncle Benjen was here a few months ago and I heard him speaking with my father about the men who are to serve at the Wall.  It is quite a change in the routine for the Wall, but he said that they will be grateful for the support.  He returned to prepare for their arrival.”

“That is good news.  I do not know what your father or my brother have planned, but it might be easier to send them on to Castle Black before there is no more room for anyone to move outside the walls of your castle.”

She grinned at him and he laughed.  “You are probably correct.”

“Are all of your lords here?”

She felt his arm tense, and looked to see that his entire demeanor had stiffened.  “No, not yet.  The Umbers, Karstarks, and Manderleys are still on their way, as is Lord Bolton.”

He whispered the last word.  She had a suspicion as to why he tensed at the thought of Lord Bolton.  Though she did not know for certain, she remembered hearing that it was Roose Bolton himself who had murdered Robb Stark.  She slid her arm from his gentle, polite, escort hold and grasped his hand.  For a moment his seemed lost somewhere else, but he eventually squeezed her hand.

“Is there a place where we might speak without the fear of prying ears?”  Speaking about some things, such as a future in which they had all lived and died, would be better where no one could hear them and think them insane.

He bowed his head thoughtfully, still tense.  “I think that I know a place, if you aren’t afraid of getting your clothing a little wet.”

She grinned at him, hoping to set him at ease.  “I do not have a fear of water, be it falling from above or rising from below.”

Her tone seemed to have a positive effect upon him because he grinned at her.  “The falling from above kind, but I do know a way to where we are going that will allow us to remain mostly dry.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

He led her down many corridors, telling her of the rooms which they passed as they walked.  They had started in the Great Keep, she was informed.  The Great Keep housed the Starks and many others.  She would have rooms prepared within the Great Keep, and her brother and Lady Brienne would also be housed there during their stay.  They walked up a curved stone staircase and then proceeded across a covered bridge which led to the armory.  They walked down to the ground level again, and out into a courtyard on the far side of the armory.  The rain was still falling steadily, but there was a small, covered walkway along the outside of the building which Robb informed her was the Guard Hall.  When the roof above the walkway ended, they walked swiftly along a path across the courtyard and into a building which appeared to be rather abandoned.

“Welcome to the First Keep, my lady,” he said once they were inside the dark entryway of the building.

She shook the rain from her dress and cloak, a little winded from their pace across the courtyard.  “First Keep?”

“This is the oldest building in all of Winterfell.  It is also unoccupied and the only people who tend to come here are my siblings and I... or servants meeting for private trysts.”  She laughed at that, as he continued.  “This is where we talk about the past the most, fewer prying ears.  Although Winterfell is rather safe when it comes to secrets.”

“I’m glad to hear that.  It would be unfortunate for the wrong person to overhear that we remember events which have not happened, or that we should have no knowledge of.”

“Agreed.  Follow me, there is a room where we can sit and dry off.”

She agreed and walked slowly behind him, down a long, rather dark, corridor.  Near the end of the passage, he turned to the right and pushed open a door.  The room was bathed in a dull grey light which came through the windows.  He walked to a fireplace, picked something up from the mantle, and then knelt.  A few moments later, a small fire awoke and the room illumined.  He added a few logs to the fire and offered for her to sit upon some of the cushions which were near the fireplace.

She walked over to the fire and joined him on the cushions.  The dryness of the room and warmth of the fire were pleasant.  “Why does no one live in this tower anymore?”

“The roof needs to be repaired and there are other issues which need to be fixed.  My brothers, sisters, and I have played in here and in the broken tower since we were little.  Sansa suggested that this would be a good place to come when we want to have discussions about everything, and we all agreed.  We brought the cushions here and the firewood, kindling, and flint.”

The idea seemed sensible.  Meeting where few could overhear plans was always a good idea. “How many of you remember?”

“Myself, my sisters Sansa, and Arya, my brothers Jon, Bran, Rickon, Theon Greyjoy, and my mother.”

“Your mother?”  Brienne would not be happy to learn that fact.  What would Catelyn Stark be like now?  The woman whom she had met at Bitterbridge had been strong, determined, and fearless.  The woman who had died and been reborn, as Brienne had confessed before King Aegon’s court, was a monster.  What was she now?

He nodded slowly.  “She has had a difficult time, though truthfully it has been hard for all of us.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.  “I can imagine that it was easier to awaken here, with family who remembered then it was for me to wake up alone.  I thought that I had gone insane.  After a few days I thought that maybe I had just dreamt ten years of my life, but I knew that was impossible.  When Garlan arrived and told me everything I was so relieved.”

“It wasn’t easier,” he whispered.  “Having Bran here to explain what had happened and why he had sent us back helped, but not really.  We all died and we all remember dying. We were all together again, and that helps, but it doesn’t change the past.”

She bowed her head in agreement.  “We _all_ remember dying, each and every one of us.  We cannot change the past, we can only hope to change the future.  That is the entire reason I am here.”

“I know.”  Silence fell for a few moments, with just their thoughts and the crackling of the fire filling their minds.  Greywind had been pacing the room, but was now lying between them on the wooden floor.  “Whose idea was it for us to marry?”

An interesting question, though not terribly unexpected.  “Garlan came up with the idea before he arrived in Highgarden.  He proposed the idea to me and I agreed that marrying Highgarden to Winterfell would be the best way for us to work toward ending the War of Five Kings before it began.  So far, everything seems to be working in our favor, though if we cannot defeat the Others none of the rest matters does it?”

“No, I suppose not.  I know that my father is going to the Wall after we are wed, with Jon and Bran.  They have not told me much of their plan, but I believe that they will be able to accomplish their goals.”

“I have faith in Bran and Daenerys.  I watched Dany arrive in King’s Landing upon the back of her massive black dragon.  I watched her fight for the remnants of the country to survive even when there was no hope that we could win.  She and your brother were able to bring us back to this time so that we could change the past.  I believe that they will be able to stop the Others.”

“If the gods allow.”  She silently agreed with his sentiment.  “How did you convince your family to agree to the match and the wedding so quickly?”

“Oh that wasn’t terribly difficult,” she said with laugh.  “They were already looking to sell me off to King Robert, a foolish scheme that did not work the first time around.  So, Garlan and I mentioned that you were of an age with me.  Heir to the North and second in line to the Riverlands is quite a step up for my ever ambitious family.  When Samwell Tarly’s letters arrived saying that your family should remember, we assumed that the match would be approved.  I also told my family that I was impatient to be married, and that will make any father try to marry off his daughter quickly.”

He raised a brow at her words and smirked.  “Impatient to marry?”

She rolled her eyes.  “I didn’t die a blushing maiden.  I had seven years at Aegon’s side.”

His eyes narrowed, as if trying to decipher something.  “King Aegon?  The one who married Daenerys?”

She cocked her head to the side, confused.  “Didn’t anyone tell you?  Sansa knew, and Jon.  I assumed that one of them would have said something.”

He shook his head slowly.  “Sansa and I have a lot to work through.  The most she told me about you is that you are ‘kind, sweet, and cunning as a viper.’  She later apologized for yelling at me.  It has been difficult for her, for all of us.  I don’t know why Jon never mentioned it, but he has been more focused on matters with the North.”

“He was then too.  With the Wall being breached, and needing supplies, he never rested.  He would fly his dragon from the Wall to King’s Landing and to the Vale.  Does he want to be king?”

“I haven’t asked, and he hasn’t talked about it.  I don’t think that he is concerned with anything other than preventing all of our deaths.”

A short burst of laughter escaped from her lips at that statement.  All of their lives, what a small thing to be concerned with.  “Then I suppose I will have to ask him at some point, discretely.”  She added the last word when she noticed Robb’s eyes widening with worry.

“Would your family have tried to marry you to Jon if they knew who he is?”

She sighed, her family’s tendency to sell her to whomever was convenient was a tiring thought.  “Of course they would have.  Just as they bade me marry to a deviant, an insane boy, and a child.  If my father had survived Aegon’s siege, I am certain that they would have sold me to Aegon as well.”

“But you said...”

“That I was with Aegon for seven years, yes.  I became his mistress in order to protect my family and to save my life. He besieged King’s Landing and we surrendered, but the safety of our heads was not a guarantee.  Garlan was being held prisoner in one of the wounded wards and I was a prisoner awaiting judgment.  I decided to sway Aegon to my side, and it worked.  Falling in love and remaining by his side happened slowly, and was a genuine surprise.”

They fell into silence, staring at the fire.

“There are times I envy how short your life was,” she whispered eventually, watching the flames dance and remembering the feeling of wildfire against her skin.  She stood and walked to the window, suddenly feeling too hot.

“I was murdered by Roose Bolton,” he hissed from his place beside the fire.  “I had a sword shoved through my heart by my own bannerman while my mother watched.  It happened because I married the wrong woman, because I sent Theon to his father.  Sansa blames me for everything that happened to her. My father refuses to allow us to harm Lord Bolton, and we must host him for my marriage because he has not done anything wrong in this time. Is that something you envy?” He was half-shouting at her, his voice shaking with rage and pain.

She turned to him, careful to keep her expression neutral.  She was to marry him, she did not want the beginning to be so bad.  “I died by wildfire.”  She said the words simply, waiting a moment before she continued.  “I watched men, women, and children die for years as food supplies ran low and the winter grew harsh.  I saw the Others with my own eyes.  Beings of ice who are painfully beautiful and deadly.  I saw the dead rise and attack their loved ones.  I saw people executed for eating their own children because there was no food. I wish that I had died earlier so that I never had a moment of those memories!  Yes I pity you and what happened to your family.  What happened was wrong and cruel and horrible. That you have to face Lord Bolton again is appalling.  But we cannot change our pasts, we cannot hide from the ghosts which haunt our minds.  We need this alliance.  The North needs the men, supplies, and food which my family is providing.”

She was shaking, crying.  Her ability to smile through anything did not seem to pertain to her memories of King’s Landing.  He stood and walked to her.  She could see that he was crying as well.  He reached for her and held her hands in his.

“I know.”  He released her hands and leaned against the wall behind them.  A moment later he started laughing.  She raised a brow and just watched him, uncertain.  He eventually stopped and looked at her apologetically.  “I’m sorry.  It just occurred to me that we were basically fighting over who had the worst death.  I should be grateful that you are here and aren’t judging me for anything that happened in the past.  I should be grateful that you remember the past and will not think me insane, unlike any other woman.”

She leaned against the wall as well, grinning.  “Well, Princess Arianne Martell and Lady Asha Greyjoy both have their memories, as does Princess Daenerys, all of whom are eligible to marry.  However, none of them could bring you the men or supplies which my family can provide.”

He sighed heavily.  “A good match, unlike a Frey would have been.”

“Or the Westerling girl whom you married,” she added quietly.

He closed his eyes, seeming far away, when he opened them he looked at her, tangibly sad.  “Do you know anything of what became of her?”

“Only that she was returned to the Crag, otherwise too much was happening in King’s Landing for me to keep track of the lesser nobles of the West.  You loved her?”

He bowed his head slowly.  “For as much as I understand love, yes.  But now, after all this time... I barely remember her face, her voice, the taste of her lips.”  He closed his eyes again, breathing raggedly.  “When we left Riverrun for the Twins, she said farewell to me thrice.  Twice when we were at Riverrun and once later that day.”  He laughed, sadness tinging the sound.  “She rode in the rain to see me.  She begged me to allow her to ride to the Twins.  I was so angry with her, but at the same time...”

“You loved her for it,” Margaery finished quietly.

“I did, and I am glad that she was not see the horror of my murder, even though she had her own pains to face.”

She agreed silently.  She felt strangely relieved that they had both loved and lost. “Hopefully she will have a happier life this time around.”

He bowed his head sadly. “Without me she should.”

She felt an ache in her heart for him.  She turned and placed a hand upon his arm.  “Robb, you cannot blame yourself for everything.  It will do no good.  Believe in yourself.  Believe in the future which we will create.”

He held her hands again, and held her eyes with his own.  “I may need you to teach me how.”

He smiled, and she smiled back at him.  “Maybe we can teach one another?”

“Will have the rest of our lives, it would seem.  However long our lives may be.”

She laughed.  “If the gods allow, a very long time.  If not, a much shorter time in which we may as well enjoy ourselves.  Are you ready to show me more of Winterfell?”

“Let me put out the fire, and then I will be glad to show you more.”

She agreed and waited for him to tend the fire.  He pushed back the cushions and moved the logs deeper into the fireplace.  He picked up a bucket which lay nearby and poured some of the water along the edge of the flames until they were down to glowing coals.  When he seemed satisfied with the fire, they walked from the room arm in arm, with Greywind trailing behind them.

The rain was lighter when they stepped outside.  As they walked, a direwolf and a slight figure with brown hair emerged from a ruined tower nearby.

“Arya,” Robb called, stopping in the rain and looking at the child.  “What are you doing?”

The girl and her wolf came closer.  Her clothes were messy, stained in a variety of colors.  Her hands seemed stained as well.  She resembled her father, with a long solemn face and silver-grey eyes.  She was pretty, and would likely grow in her looks as she grew older.

“I was spending time with Nymeria in the broken tower.  There are too many people in the castle for her.”

He raised a brow.  “Or for you either I don’t doubt.  Lady Margaery I would like to introduce you to my sister, the Lady Arya.”

The girl curtseyed politely, though her eyes seemed to be appraising her.  Margaery curtsied to her as well.  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Arya.”

“It is nice to meet you as well, Lady Margaery,” she replied.

“Come, let’s get inside,” Robb said, to which they all agreed.

Stopping in the rain made their clothing was wetter than when they had entered the First Keep, but it dried as they walked.  Arya walked with them for some of the tour of the castle.  Margaery had the distinct feeling that the girl was judging her silently.  After having lived through wars, sieges, and attacks of the undead, a nine year old girl did not seem particularly frightful.  Even the direwolves did not frighten her, they seemed quiet and calm, though she did not doubt that they could kill her in a moment.

The walk was exhausting, and they did not cover half the rooms of the castle.  Eventually, after Arya left them to wander off on her own, Robb escorted Margaery to her rooms.  The rooms were huge, and warm though there was no fire in the hearth.  The tapestries on the walls depicted men and women going on a hunt, as well as animals resting in fields.  There were fresh flowers upon the tables.  The candles were tall and burning bright.

Her rooms were a suite.  There was a main sitting room, her bed chamber, a bed chamber for two of her handmaids, a privy, and a small balcony.  In truth, her rooms at Highgarden had been smaller.  Her rooms in the Red Keep had varied in size, but were frequently larger than her current chambers.

She wondered if she would move to different rooms after she was wed or if this where she was meant to stay?  Would Robb move to her chambers or maintain his own?  Marriage... that too seemed strange.  Robb was nice, she had decided.  She liked his smile, his eyes, his voice.  She found herself wondering what he looked like underneath his clothes.  He seemed well muscled and strong, which would make his appearance appealing.

She entered her bed chamber and undressed.  Her maids had already put some of her clothing into the wardrobes and chests in the room, at present they were in their bed chamber.  She poured water from a pitcher into a basin and cleaned herself with the cloths which had been prepared for her.  When she was finished, she scented her skin with mint, rose, and cloves.  She then dressed in her chemise.

She called for her handmaids, Lea and Violet, to help her dress.  Lea and Violet were two of the five girls who had accompanied Margaery from Highgarden as maids.  All of them were a little older than her, and had been in her service for some years.  They were all that Margaery would retain of her home, and all they would retain of their home was one another.  For this was the way of the world, the highborn decided the fates of the low born.  It was terribly unfair, but Margaery had never heard them complain.

They dressed her in a dark green gown with gold trim, it was similar to her travel dress but tighter and cut lower.  There were roses sewn in silk at the hem, waist, and bust in a wide array of colors.  Her maids combed her hair and wove it so that her hair would be intricately fashioned at the top but loose at the bottom.  They clasped her jewelry and assisted her with her shoes.  Hopefully she would make a good impression upon the family into which she was marrying.

When they were done, she asked them to bring Lady Brienne to her.  Lea offered to be the one to find Brienne, and it was not terribly long before they arrived again.  She dismissed the girls when Brienne arrived, asking them to get to know the other maids of the castle.

“How do you find Winterfell,” Margaery asked her.

“I have not seen much beyond my rooms.  Lord Stark seems to be a good man, as does Lord Robb.  Did you enjoy your tour?”

She pressed her lips together, thoughtful.  “I did.  We spoke at great length about many things...”  She paused, pouring water for herself from a pitcher which was on one of the tables in her sitting room.  “His mother remembers,” she told Brienne quietly.

The older girl’s anguish was tangible.  Margaery pitied the girl, she had seen much pain.  “I do not wish to see her.”

“But you will,” she commanded, startling her companion.  “You have no idea what she is like in this place, in this time, nor do I.”

“The things she did...”

“You told me what she did.  She killed a man who would have been executed by the next regime, a man who did wrongs against her family.”  Brienne began to protest, but Margaery cut her off.  “Remain with me until my brother and Lord Stark go north, and then go with them.  You were beyond the Wall before, you have an idea of what they will face.  I do not ask for you to like or befriend the Starks, but we all need to work together for the future.”

She hung her head, with a mixture of emotions flooding through her which Margaery could only attempt to guess.  “I do not wish to attend the feast.”

Margaery sighed.  “I do not ask that you do it for me, I want you to do this for yourself.  You need to face your past just as much as I do.  Dress as you wish, speak to whomever you wish.  From what I have learned, you may find these northerners more to your liking than southerners.  Lord Stark has allowed both of his daughters to train with swords and the ladies of House Mormont are all trained as warriors.  Speak with them, get to know them.”

The girl forced a smile to her lips, though it was a feeble smile.  “I will do my best.”

Smiling genuinely at Brienne, Margaery assured her that her best would be enough.  They spoke for a short while before Brienne left.  Margaery then read for an hour or so until Garlan arrived to escort her to meet the rest of the Stark family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has found, read, liked, commented, etc on this story. I am often overwhelmed by how much attention this has received.
> 
> I am sorry for the delay, there was a lot going on in my life this month. I also was originally going to do Sam now, or Arianne, but this chapter decided to be written first. I also decided that instead of making this 12k words that the next section of the welcome to Winterfell will just be a different POV.


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